All the Little Pieces
by Alchemechanist
Summary: Ranging across everything. A collection of drabbles. Updates may be fairly erratic.
1. Caught Between

Caught between

Great. The first real world he spoke. Great, meaning all, meaning everything. Representing the family greed, the avarice, the lust for gold and power. Speaking of a challenge to tradition through his differences, his capabilities, and the shining, fierce intelligence in his one-year-old eyes. His father was pleased. His mother was not.

"All children's first words are supposed to be 'Da-da,'" she had said, throwing her hands up in the air as he listened from behind the doorway, silent as he always was, observing and sorting memories into their various slots, his brain begging to be filled and nourished. "I don't want him raised as a criminal, do you understand?"

"Yes," he had replied smoothly, his voice deep and reassuring.

But she was not to be fooled. "Do you? Do you, Timmy? This is my little boy, my baby, my darling child. I don't want him spoiled by a loss of innocence in his childhood, growing up with a criminal for a role model."

"Yet you will spoil him with motherly instincts," he replied, his voice a bit bitter. "You forget that he is my son as well."

"You remember your father. You remember how you grew up. You've told me. You remember how cold and heartless it was, and how alienated you felt. Do you want him to grow and learn how to be in that environment?"

"I do believe I grew up in that environment and turned out an honorable man."

"Because I came along and taught you how to be one."

There was a long silence, and the child crouching behind the doorframe had cocked his head, wondering briefly what the rustling of material and the soft sigh was, but knowing it wouldn't bode well to look and give away that he was eavesdropping.

"He will grow up to be respectful," his father said after a moment, not resolving the issue but storing it away for another time, and feeling that he had pushed his luck far enough, the little boy crept from his listening place and up the service staircase to the book-filled nursery.

* * *

Love. The first concept he really struggled with. Love, meaning all, meaning everything. Representing the family heritage, the reasons, the feelings for spouses and children. Speaking of a challenge to tradition through his differences, his capabilities, and the shining, fierce intelligence in his four-year-old eyes. His mother was pleased. His father was not.

"A boy as bright as you can look up the answer to that question in the library," his father had replied coldly, glaring up from his century-old copy of the _Iliad_. "I'm quite surprised you don't know the answer to that question already."

The boy standing silently before his parents did not miss the reproachful look his mother gave her husband before smiling at him. "Come here, darling, come sit with me." She gestured to her lap, and he started towards it, but changed his destination to the empty couch facing them when he caught the icy stare his father was giving him. His mother's face fell a bit, but she continued. "You were made by love." He cocked his head, but, well taught, did not interrupt. "You see, darling," his mother continued, "There are certain things a man and a woman do when they love each other, because trust is a very powerful thing."

"I know the mechanics of sex, Mum," he said as she paused, and felt a twinge of satisfaction when she looked surprised. His father nodded, not at all startled, but just as the boy thought he had gained his approval, the man gave him the look once again.

"Mother," he said in a soft, burning. The young boy blinked, and then nodded.

"Mother," he repeated. "As I said, I know how. But I do not understand why."

His mother breathed out slowly through the O formed by her lips. "It is something you can never really understand until you are older, darling," she said, her voice sweet and soft, so unlike his father's. "When you love someone very, very much in a romantic way, all you want is to be as close to them as possible. This is not purely physical, you have to understand, because there is so much trust and loved involved in making it truly intimate and beautiful, and in no way are you to take advantage of these things you know." He nodded. "If you know what sex is, then I'm guessing you also know the meaning of rape and sexual assault?" He nodded again, his eyes flicking to his father, who was intent on reading his book and not caring that his son was silently asking for his approval. "It's based on love, Arty," she said, and he looked back to her. "When you're older, you will understand."

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again before his father cut him off. "Go on now, it has been explained as you asked. Lingering shows disrespect." And so he rose from the empty couch, bowing slightly before leaving his parents alone, more confused than when he had gone into the room.

* * *

There was one concept he felt he would never grasp, and it was why opposites attracted. Not when it came to magnetism and polarization of course — that was very simple science — but when it came to people. Namely, his mother and his father. His mother, loving and wonderful, and his father, cold and uncaring. Two opposites, and one in the middle, trying to learn how to grow up in a world where no one took him for who he wanted to be.

No matter what he did, one of them was always pleased, and the other one was not.

* * *

**First drabble. Ever. Oddly liberating.**

**There is a poll on my profile for the next full Artemis Fowl fic I will do once Half the Perfect World is finished. Titles only. Please vote.  
**


	2. A True Story

Doodles

Holly Short was doing her best not to laugh and failing miserably.

"Aren't you a certified doctor?" she asked, giggling between her words.

Artemis looked up, irritation evident on his face. "What on earth does that have to do with anything?" he snapped, the perfect picture of frustration. Holly looked over his shoulder and burst out in fresh peals of laughter.

"That means you passed an anatomy and physiology class, yeah?"

Artemis got what she was playing at. "That class was a basic study of the human body and how it worked. Nothing more that, Holly. I don't understand why that is relevant to this. The class was child's play, though I suppose if I were completely honest with myself, I would consider it a joke. I perhaps learned one or two things I didn't know beforehand, but it was a complete waste of my time."

"Artemis Fowl, learning something he didn't know? I'm shocked."  
Artemis scowled. "I was six."

"I would have thought that a genius as smart as you would have known every 'basic' thing about the human body before you were out of your diapers."

"That was a redundant statement," Artemis said testily, turning his back on her. "Either say 'a genius like you' or 'someone as smart as you.' Honestly, Holly, I know English wasn't your first language, but I am rather surprised you don't have your sentence structure down." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "And I was out of diapers at fifteen months, thank you very much."

Holly smirked, tugging on his hair and knowing full well how annoyed he got when people mussed his carefully arranged tresses. "Wasn't Myles out at fourteen? I'm appalled, Arty, that you would let your younger brother beat you at something so easy."

"Don't call me Arty unless you have something worthwhile to say," he grumbled. "If you're going to be a prick, my name is Artemis."

Holly raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, well. I never thought the day would come when you would use such a vile word as 'prick.'"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he shot back. "Why are you here again?"

"I was completing the Ritual at the place where I first met you and I got nostalgic," Holly said, smirking. "So I decided to drop you a visit —"

"Which was against regulations, I'm sure."

"— and I found you," Holly continued, not stopping save a low chuckle that escaped her, "doing this. What other skeletons do you have in your closet, Artemis?"

"I'm just the writer," Artemis said defensively. "She draws the pictures. I just supply the story and the setting."

"Aren't you an underground romance-novel writer as well?" Holly asked. She vaguely considered moving an arm's length away, but she knew that Artemis was physically unable to do her bodily harm if his life depended on it; Holly would have him in a headlock within a second. Instead, she sat back and enjoyed the show as Artemis's head slowly drew up from his desk, a distant expression of horror drawing over his features.

"How did you know about that?"

"Butler and I _do _have lives, you know. We need a relief from our jobs, too."

"Gossip, Holly? That's low."

"Don't think of it as gossip. More like story time."

Artemis shot her a vicious glare that Holly responded to with a wide grin. "I think I've even read a couple of the books," she said, knowing exactly how pissed he was getting. "Very erotic. You made me tingle inside."

"For the love of God!" Artemis cried. "I am trying to work!"

"You do know that those books are very unoriginal, don't you?" Holly tapped a steady rhythm on his head, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing.

"Of course I know that; they're trash," Artemis snapped. "I write them when I'm bored. It's amazing, the rubbish most of the world's population reads. My books go flying off the shelves."

"You write erotica when you're _bored?_" Holly said, more than a little surprised. "I don't know about humans, Mud Boy, but where I come from, that is _not _what boys your age do to relieve tension."

Artemis had a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"You know, Artemis, most boys your age go on dates and have pictures of the girls they like under their pillows."

Artemis hand jerked, and a stream of thick, black ink marred the page he was carefully drawing lines on, his face turning a light shade of pink. Holly raised an eyebrow.

"What? Do you have something to say?"

"I — what — _no_, no I do not." He fought to morph his mortified expression into fury. "You made me mess up my panels, Holly!"

"You should do them on the computer, then," Holly said, smirking. "You're blushing, Arty."

"No, I most certainly am not."

"What, have you been on a date…?" Holly teased, and then trailed off, a look of sheer joy coming over her face. "The pillow!" she screeched, and bolted for the stairs.

"No!" Artemis shouted, leaping up from his chair and pounding after her. Holly laughed madly as she darted out of the door to his study, skirting a very surprised Butler, and charged down the hallway, Artemis panting at her heels. She skidded to a stop outside the door to his bedroom, and he barely missed her as his feet slid out from under him and he fell on his back, cursing loudly as Holly took a flying leap onto his bed tossing his pillows out of the way until she found a small frame lying facedown. Artemis picked himself off of the ground and reached wildly for it, but Holly jetted off the bed and scrambled on top of his wardrobe, which creaked dangerously underneath her.

"Holly," Artemis groaned, not even attempting to follow her.

Holly flipped the frame over and stared; she was looking down at the face of a slightly pudgy, plain looking girl with thick-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose, magnifying her muddy brown eyes. She gave him an incredulous look.

"Her name is Ana," Artemis said defensively as Butler came into the room, curious and, true to his nature, a little concerned.

"She… wow, Artemis, I didn't think you were into geeky chicks."

"It doesn't matter what she looks like to you," Artemis said fiercely, his cheeks coloring again. "What matters is that she's sharp and brave and witty and beautiful in _my _eyes, because the last time I checked, you were dating Trouble, who is a male."

Holly's eyebrows flew up into her bangs. "Well said."

Artemis huffed. "Thank you."

In the doorway, Butler chuckled darkly before turning to leave. Holly stared after him, and then her eyes narrowed as her suspicious side took over.

"D'you know something, Artemis?" she asked, turning back around to look at him. "I don't think someone as paranoid as you would just leave something so personal in such an easy place to find. It's just not your style." Artemis remained silent. "I don't think there is an Ana, Artemis," she continued. "As a matter of fact, I think that if I went and searched 'geek' on Google I'd come up with this picture." She glanced down at the frame and shook it slightly. "Why have a fake picture underneath your pillow?"

"Give it back, Holly," Artemis said calmly.

Holly raised an eyebrow and undid the clasps on the back of the frame. Artemis was watching he evenly now, a defeated kind of calm that weighed down his shoulders pressing down around him as the back of the frame opened and Holly found her gaze traveling down to… herself.

She had to admit that it was a beautifully captured moment, though how Artemis had done it, she had no idea. The photograph was lit by a golden light that could only be achieved by the setting sun, the beautiful color feeding Holly's skin with a strange but not unpleasant glow. She was smiling widely, her face turned slightly away from the camera, her eyes directed perhaps at someone nearby, and she could tell from the length of her hair — brushing her shoulders — that the picture had been taken perhaps a year before. Holly had never particularly thought of herself as pretty, but if that's what the photographer had been going for, then that was what they had gotten.

"Artemis," she murmured. "How long?"

"How long what?" he retorted, his calm demeanor cracking.

"How long have you felt like this about me?" she said, looking up. "I thought I made it clear that this wasn't going to work."

Artemis scowled. "Isn't it what most boys my age do?"

Holly felt her gaze soften. "Yes, Artemis, I guess, but…" She sighed, sliding off of his dresser. "You aren't most boys." She silently handed him the picture frame, but he simply dropped it onto his duvet, standing quickly and making his way out of the room.

"I have work to do," he muttered, and returned to his study. After a few moments of redoing the page he had ruined in his fit of embarrassment, he heard Holly make her way back into the room. He ignored her, sketching out lines and the oddly proportioned stick figures that she had been making fun of not ten minutes ago.

"Hey," she said, and though she spoke softly her voice seemed to bounce like crazy off the walls. "I'm sorry, Artemis."

He was silent for a while, neatly scrawling in dialogue, the voices of the characters ringing through his head.

"_Your father. Is he like you?"_

"_That's a strange question. Why do you ask?"_

"_Well, you're no friend to our people. What if the man you're trying to rescue is the man who will destroy us?"_

"_You have no cause to be alarmed, Ma'am. My father, though some of his ventures were undoubtedly illegal was… is… a noble man. The idea of harming another human being would be repugnant to him."_

"_So what happened to you?"_

"_I… made a mistake."_

In the panels following this dialogue, though for now only depicted lightly sketched stick figures and notes, would someday soon hold a young boy, his bodyguard, and their beautiful young woman helper trekking through the Artic wasteland. Eventually, Artemis was conscious that Holly was reading over his shoulder, and was aware that in her fits of laughter over his horrible drawings, she had refrained from reading the words.

"What is this?" Holly asked him in hushed tones.

"These," Artemis Fowl said, "are the second-installment plans for the future graphic novel _The Fairy Thief._" He looked up from the comic pages, smiling slightly up at his surprised friend. "Based on a true story."

* * *

**There is a poll on my profile for the next full Artemis Fowl fic I will do once Half the Perfect World is finished. Titles only. Please vote.**


	3. La Vita e Bella

La Vita e Bella

Breathing is rather hard to do when one is crying their heart out. Gut wrenching sobs make it hard for air to successfully make it into the body, and in reaction to a lack of oxygen, the face grows hot and the head begins to hurt. Of course, this was just facts Artemis's mind was throwing up in response to seeing his best friend cry.

He could not pretend that he hadn't at least known that it could happen, seeing as both his mother and his father — his _father, _for God's sake — had cried at this. But that had been a couple of tears, and nothing more. Completely breaking down was just a bit different than a couple of tears.

"Holly," he said gently, and received a smack on the side of his head for his efforts. Holly's watery eyes remained rooted to the screen as a mother and her young boy embraced and the movie closed.

"Oh, G-Gods, that was s-so s-sad!" she moaned, not even bothering to wipe the droplet of salt water clustering around her jaw. "H-how are you n-not _feeling _this, A-Artemis?" She sniffed, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her uniform.

Artemis scrutinized her. "You've never seen a World War II movie, have you?"

"A w-what? N-no." Holly picked up the DVD box, trying to read the back through her steady flow of tears. "When w-was this m-made?"

"1997," Artemis said automatically. "Of course, it was set circa 1940. An Italian film."

"No s-shit, s-seeing as it's all in I-Italian."

"Will you _please _stop crying, Holly? It was a movie."

"B-but to t-think… It's s-so _awful_, that you h-humans spent s-so m-many years k-killing each other."

"Yes, the Holocaust was a terrible thing," Artemis said softly. "You've never heard of it?"

Holly wiped her eyes. "S-sort of. Not in d-detail."

"It's one of the biggest occurrences in human history," he said.

"D-don't turn this into a lecture," Holly asked, pinching her nose in an attempt to stop her tears. "You have to have an emotional response to this, A-Artemis. Come on."

"Of course I do. It disgusts me." Artemis picked up the box, gazing at the picture; a man, woman, and a child with an Italian street backing them. "To think of killing someone because of their religion, or sexuality, or the color of their skin or the state of their mind. It's awful, Holly. Of course it strikes me emotionally."

"Then cry."

"Not _that _emotionally, sorry." He gazed at the credits scrolling across the screen. "_La Vita e Bella_. Life is Beautiful."

"What a fantastic movie," Holly sighed, leaning back into the couch. "And I thought humans were incapable of making good films. Terrible quality, but a great film. Gods, I haven't cried like that in years."

Artemis remained silent, staring at the screen.

"I'm glad we got together," Holly said softly after a moment. "It's nice to spend time together not saving the world."

Artemis chuckled. "Yes, and to think that some people do this sort of thing regularly."

"Inconceivable." Holly's eyes glowed as the screen faded to black. "But I think that they're the unlucky ones."

"Why's that?"

The room went dark, just enough light coming in from behind the curtains for Artemis to see Holly's silhouette.

"Because, when you think about it, life it only beautiful when you know what you can lose."

* * *

**Saddest movie ever. The only one that's ever made me cry, and I just _don't_ cry at movies.**

**If there's a one-shot you want written, please review or PM it to me. I'd be happy to do it for you as long as it's not horribly cliche. Ha. Hypocrite.**

**There is a poll on my profile for the next full Artemis Fowl fic I will do once Half the Perfect World is finished. Titles only. Please vote.**


	4. Never the Answer

**A very long one-shot in my collection of one-shots (since I do believe they can't be called drabbles). An attempt to cure writer's block. I am pretty sure it worked, so once I fail my Pre-Cal test I will get crackin' on the rest of the next HTPW chapter.**

**The first two sections of this one-shot has actually been in my arsenal for about a year, and I found it just the other day, so... I'd enjoy reading your thoughts on it.  
**

* * *

She stood, her helmet tucked in the crook of her arm, staring down at what she should have been staring up at. Her recently-cut hair, a short ginger crop, barely moved in the sweetly innocent breeze, not masking her face the way it should have been, like it was in movies and books. Real life wasn't fiction.

She wasn't crying like his parents had been, the processional carrying on solemnly around their grief-stricken bodies, two desolate figures in a sea of black-clad famous faces. She had watched the funeral calmly, shielded in the back of the church, and then he had been put into the ground. And slowly, the visitors had trickled away until it was only her. Only now that she was alone could Holly say goodbye.

"You had the rest of your puny human life ahead of you, you stupid bastard."

* * *

"_Vice Second Commander."_

_She took a moment to finish her sentence on the computer and then had pushed away from her desk, turning in her swivel chair with an exaggerated yawn._

"_I've told you how much I hate paperwork, haven't I, Trouble?" When he didn't correct her with a terse direction to call him by his title – Commander now, the youngest ever in the LEP – she looked up from her feet, alarm rising through her body as she registered his somber face. "What is it? What's happened?"_

_Trouble sighed, fisting his temples. "I really hate to be the bearer of bad news, Holly," he said, "but your friend Fowl… He killed himself."

* * *

_

Being the nice man he was, Trouble had let her up for the funeral. Given her two days off, though she wouldn't need them both. Two days to bid her goodbyes to a friend she hadn't seen or spoken in two years.

She stood stoic, a rock against the gentle wind buffeting her. Her face was blank, and to any other man but the one approaching her, she would have seemed nonchalant.

"I thought I might find you here."

Holly didn't need to turn. "How're you faring, big man?"

Butler stopped beside her, looking down at the name engraved onto the headstone. "I've been better."

"I think that's an understatement."

_Artemis Fowl II_

_September 1, 1989 – October 17, 2013_

"_Aurum est potestas."_

"Hardly a fitting motto now, is it?" Holly asked after a minute. "Or was his ex-wife okay with it?"

"Michelle… didn't attend the funeral. No one has heard from her for three months, actually." He glanced at the little woman beside him. "I think she was a leading reason for him."

"How did he do it?"

"Injection," he replied easily, as if they were discussing nothing but the cloudless sky over their heads. "They figured out pretty fast what it was, but I'm not sure I want to know."

"Why's that?"

Butler did not reply, but he didn't need to. The hardened soldier standing next to him knew the answer.

No bodyguard would want to know what he could have saved his charge from.

* * *

"_Holly."_

_It was Artemis's voice, carrying impassively over the speaker of her desktop communicator. An odd tone for a man whose baby was due within the week, but Artemis never had exactly been normal._

"_Hey," she replied, shoving away a report she had been reading to turn up the volume. "Nice to hear from you, seeing as you never call unless it's earth-shatteringly important." Her gaze traveled from the little speaker, tracing up the wall of the cubicle until they reached the calendar. Three days from the current date, one of the squares was written erratically in, Holly's sloppy handwriting made even more illegible from her excitement._

_DUE DATE, the square read. Two and two made four._

"_So, was it a boy a girl?" she asked, her attention snapping back to the speaker. "I don't know what you were thinking, not figuring it out at the first moment you could. I've been tearing my hair out down here, just waiting for the baby to be born so that you could tell me. I've thought of so many names, Artemis —"_

"_It's dead."_

"…_What?"_

_His voice could have easily frozen the very core of the earth three times over. "It's a stillborn. Died hours before its birth. Michelle is… devastated."_

_Her voice caught in her throat, fighting as she squeezed out the only thing that came to mind._

"_I'm so sorry."_

_What came next was unexpected._

"_Yes, of course you are," he said, the sarcasm in his voice worse than the dead quality it had had before. "You and every other soul who has come up and learned of this. You're all so sorry." His breathing took on a ragged quality, and if she hadn't known him better she would have mistaken the sound for sobs. "I called you because I needed someone to tell me something other than the fact that they're goddamn sorry. I called because I need —"_

_A strangled, almost guttural sound of anger and pain, and then static. The writing on the calendar seemed to mock the stunned elf sitting alone in her cubicle.

* * *

_

"24 years is a long time in a human's life, isn't it?"

Butler's eyes, almost black in the glorious sunlight, did not leave the stone that marked the man he had protected since birth. "An entire fourth of a life, if the human's lucky. Usually more like a third."

"A third of a life isn't so bad, is it?"

"Not even halfway through the third decade, Holly…. It's a terribly short time to live. It's not like the centuries and centuries your kind have to live. 24 years, even for a human, is over in the blink of an eye."

"You watched him grow up," Holly said, watching the unmoving features of his face, towering far over her. "I can't even imagine how hard this is for you."

He did not make any motion that he had heard her for a moment, choosing instead to stand in the breeze and pretend that the headstone he was looking down on was really a man with long, twiggy limbs, sprawled carelessly on the spectacularly green grass, eyes closed to the sun, dozing lightly. What he wouldn't give to get another chance to see that long, pale, slightly freckled face, calmly resting in the sunlight of the beautiful afternoon in eastern Ireland…

"I can't pretend that I don't want him back," Butler said, "but he was more than ready to go. Life held nothing for him anymore."

"But he had everything," Holly said.

"Not love," Butler murmured. "He hadn't had love for two years."

* * *

_She landed carefully on his balcony, peering into his open French doors. His bedroom was dark, which automatically made her cautious. It had been years since their time traveling incident… surely he would not trick her now?_

_A light flicked on, and she automatically flipped up a hand to cover her eyes, fingers reaching for the gun on her hip, but after a moment she relaxed. This was Artemis she was visiting, not some hostile petty thief._

"_You took so long I thought you weren't coming."_

_She brought her hand down, squinting in the golden light from his bedside lamp in time to see him whip back the comforter and leap out of bed, landing clumsily on the cherry wood floors. He slept bare-chested in the lukewarm summer night, immune to any erroneous thoughts his state of undress might have caused. Perhaps he believed her claim that she had never harbored any affection for him._

_Maybe she did not anymore, but that did not stop his 19-year-old adult body from being long and lithe, wiry muscles and soft wings of ribs stretching across his torso. _

_She blinked a little, refocusing on the present as he threw a thin cotton robe on, crossing the room in three long strides and sweeping her into a hug, joy radiating from his embrace._

"_Gods, Artemis, it's been months," she scolded from inside his long, gangly arms. "You called me asking me to get up here as soon as possible, so I assumed there was an emergency of some kind." He released her and stepped back, beaming shamelessly. "What could possibly be so important that you had to call me up here to tell me?"_

_He bit his lower lip in nervous happiness, looking almost like an overgrown child about to surprise a parent. "I'm getting married, Holly," he replied. "I proposed to Michelle this afternoon… and she said yes."_

"_You… you're engaged?" She knew her voice sounded incredulous because this was Artemis Fowl, the socially challenged, horribly awkward, romantically clueless Artemis Fowl. "You have a fiancé? You're marrying Michelle?"_

"_Yes!" Artemis cried back, laughing as she had never seen him laugh before, his face completely free of any sort of worry or stress. "She said yes, she said yes, she said yes, Holly!" He took her hands and spun her around, completely consumed with his triumph._

_He collapsed back onto his bed when his excitement had ebbed a bit, his chest heaving, a ridiculously huge smile splitting his pale, slightly sweaty face in two._

"_Artemis," she asked, crawling onto the mountain of blankets next to him. "Don't get me wrong. I'm so happy for you and for her, but… why did you call me up here to tell me?"_

_He turned his head toward her, his expression changing from ecstatic and mellowing until his smile, now closed and slight, was somewhat sad. "Because you're my best friend," he said, and offered no more explanation than that._

_And at that moment, it was enough.

* * *

_

"When you say that Michelle's been missing, do you mean that she's chosen not to show her face, or that you really have no idea where she is?"

Butler started a bit. How long had he stood here in silence beside the tiny soldier, dwelling on all of the years he had spent raising a child that was not his to raise, and the pride of watching that child grow? He took a moment to gather his wits, and answered.

"She wouldn't come back, no matter how much he pleaded with her. She warned him against following her, and he took that warning to heart."

"Why did she leave?"

Butler's tongue slowly moistened his lips. Clearly, this was a question he did not want to answer. "Artemis… He's been a shell ever since the miscarriage two years ago." He tilted his head back, closing his eyes to the brilliant blue canvas stretching overhead. "You can't have known how excited he was to be a father, Holly, unless you had been there every day of the pregnancy. He practically glowed with it all, and I know…" Here his voice thickened a little. "I know that he would have been a great father." He brought his head back down, keeping his eyes closed, his brow clenching with stress. "But after that, Holly… he was absolutely heartbroken. He was still Artemis after that, but… he wasn't, at the same time. He was never the same again, and Michelle had finally had enough. She just… walked out."

"She must have been all he had left."

"He tried so hard to live alone, but then she sent the divorce papers in the mail. I thought he was going to just fall to pieces that night. He told me to forge his signature and then locked himself in his study for three days." Butler took a deep breath. "I think it was then that he just broke. And then he made himself the suicide plan. And then three months later…"

"He's dead," Holly whispered.

* * *

_"I met a girl," he told her._

_ "Did you now?" Holly teased in return, propping her feet up on his desk. He shot her a look from across the room, but she kept them up, reclining a bit in his chair._

_ "Yes, I did." He selected a book from one of his shelves, thumbing through it with delicate hands. "At one of my parents' friend infernal parties, at the risk of being cliché. She is very… interesting."_

_ "Is she pretty?"_

_ "I suppose so," he said, coming off as nonchalant to the untrained eye._

_ "You think she's pretty, don't you?"_

_ He sighed, slipping his reading glasses out of his blazer pocket and slipping them on, the better to see the old text with. "Yes, Holly, I think she's pretty."_

_ "Gotcha. What makes her interesting, besides her face? Or is that all you males think about?"_

_ "Heavens, no. I am not so crude." His brow furrowed at the text he was reading, as if he were concentrating deeply on his work. Holly knew better. Get to know Artemis well enough — no easy feat, for sure — and he would gossip like an old woman when he had something he honestly wanted to share with you. "No, she really is quite fascinating. German, studious, quiet. She's earning a degree in microbiology. 19 years old. No genius, but intelligent, very intelligent."_

_ "She's 19, Artemis? That's a bit creepy."_

_ "Only three years older than me, Holly. That's got nothing on what happened between us."_

_ A moment of awkwardness passed between them. Artemis pretended to read, while Holly suddenly became very interested in the way her boots balanced on the desk._

_ "Oh, let's stop this," he said after a minute, snapping his book shot and replacing it on the shelves. "What's in the past is in the past, do you agree?"_

_ "I would really like to not feel awkward about it every single time it's brought up, if that's what you're saying."_

_ "That," he answered, smiling his trademark vampire smile, "is precisely what I am saying."_

_ "Good. I'm down with that," she said, and then smacked him as he drew near. "Creep. Get that smile off of your face and tell me some more about this girl you met."_

_ And he did, and life began to move on from the moment in the gorilla cage so many years ago.

* * *

_

"I should go."

Afternoon was turning into evening, and the sky was no longer pure blue. Holly opened her eyes to the sunset, jolting a little as she realized she was leaning onto the headstone that marked one of the greatest, most troubled friends she had ever had. Butler stood over her, the breeze playing with the hems of his suit jacket. He was not looking at her, but at the setting sun, the golden light emblazoning some of the old soldier she knew back into his face.

"One more thing, before you go," Holly said, and he nodded. "Did you ever think, as he was growing up, that one day his genius was bound to drive him insane?"

"No," Butler replied, looking at her one last time before turning to go, his words carrying on the wind behind him. "I knew it would. I always knew."

Holly watched him go as the sun sank below the horizon, and was sitting beside the man who had loved her and abandoned her, cared for her and cried for her, worried for her and let go for her, and thought that maybe, in the grand scheme of life, that this was what it was meant to be. What it all came down to.

She stood, stretching in the twilight, and picked up the helmet she had removed in tribute to the greatest human who had ever lived. It was time to leave for the last time; who knew how long Foaly had been wiping her from satellite feed.

Holly started up her wings and began to rise off the ground, but sank back after only moments of hovering. In one last farewell, she knelt next to the grave marker and softly kissed the cold stone engraved with his name, just like she had always kissed his cheek in farewell all of the years she had watched him grow.

And after resting her forehead for one moment on the cold slab of marble, she stood, her hand resting for an instant more on the top of the headstone before she turned away for the last time and took to the air, the Fowl graveyard becoming just a blur among the green fields of the Irish countryside as she drew farther and farther away.

And for the last time, Holly looked back to the place where it had all began as she flew into the gathering darkness, a small, sad smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

"Goodbye, Artemis."


	5. Proud of Him

**This came to me from listening to "Big My Secret" — a very poignant song — and from a whole batch of fresh-baked self-pity and confusion. Having trouble with the next chapter of HTPW... should hopefully be out soon, but things are sort of sucking at the moment, and unfortunately tech rehearsals and passing Pre-Cal for the six weeks are higher on the priority list than getting out a new chapter, however much I may want to.**

**I really, really want feedback on this one — I've never really written Artemis Senior before.**

* * *

I remember Angeline's face the first time she held him.

There wasn't a trace of exhaustion or pain when she saw the nurse coming toward her with him in her arms. My wife took the child, a fragile thing, something of myself, so easy to break, so already aware of his surroundings, his wide gaze surveying his mother's face with open curiosity. She sighed, crooning that he had my eyes, and oh, Timmy, she knew it would be perfect to name him after me, disregarding our plans to name him after her long-dead father.

I looked at my watch.

There was a flash of something resembling disbelief over her face, marring the sheer joy and jubilation that had settled there the moment she saw the treasure she had so carefully guarded and cared for over the course of the last nine months. I did not apologize for it.

And now nearly eighteen years have flown by, and my firstborn has flown from infant to almost a man before my eyes.

The parlor clock tells me it is nearly one in the morning — not a late night for Artemis, I know, but certainly late for the two small children snuggled against him, one tucked under the crook of each arm. It is no wonder they sleep soundly, small sigh-like snores emitting from their sweet lips, but I am surprised that Artemis sleeps with them.

And I realize, my face half in light from the den down the hallway and half in dark from the vaguely moonlit shadow of the parlor, a juxtaposition, and chiaroscuro, that I do not know my son at all.

No matter how hard I search myself, I cannot find it in me to remember his first word, or his first step, or his first day of school. I can't remember wrestling with him as I do now with the two boys nestled firmly against his chest, or spending leisurely days simply enjoying being with him, or teaching him how to build a doghouse, or how to drive, or how to properly act when taking a young woman out on a first date. I can' t remember any specific moment of his childhood save many that seem to be of the same breeding — a toddler, and then a young child, and then a near-teenage boy, looking up to me cautiously, with respect and concern, always wanting to please and receive a praise I never remember giving to him.

And, standing in the beautiful oak doorway, looking down at the near-man sleeping on the couch that is a stranger to me, I know that he wanted that praise more than anything in the world.

I lean my head against the wood, as if a slightly tilted view will give me a new insight on this close-to-man.

A shadow crossed over the light pouring into the room from behind me. I turn slightly; there is the man who really raised my son, and was more of a father to him than I had ever come close to. Butler's eyes only linger on me for a moment before he follows my focus to Artemis, his long legs sprawling over the couch cushions, his chin brushing the hair of one of his brothers, his arm curled protectively around the sleeping child lest he roll over too far and fall from the couch. I know that this man standing beside me, nearly ten years my junior, was more of a guardian to Artemis than I ever was.

"Does he need me?" I whisper, my voice soft in the stillness of the room, and I am slightly mortified to find my intonation thick with emotion I did not know I was feeling.

Butler does not answer, tilting his head as I am to contemplate the beautiful tableau laid out in front of us, marveling, I can see, at the peace of it, the innocence of the picture. However little I know about Artemis, I know that he is neither peaceful nor innocent, for I was neither a peaceful nor innocent man at his age.

And I know we are the same in this because it appears he has taken after me more than I would like.

"He told me once, when he was just two years old," Butler begins, and I start a little, having slightly forgotten that I asked him the question. "He said, 'Butler, if I am to ever become a father, never let me hurt my child.'"

My heart lurches.

"I asked him what he meant by that. He said that he had meant exactly the words he had spoken, and left it at that. And I thought about it for years afterward. And I realized, one day, when you again turned away from him after he had accomplished something monumental in his eyes, that the smile was dying on his face, and that he was hurting."

My eyes trace the sharp features of my son's face as he speaks.

"I took him aside after that, and asked him to tell me what he had meant to tell you. I don't remember what it was, but it was important to him, and I could sense the excitement rolling off of him as he finally got his chance to share something with someone. And when he was done, and we had stopped talking for a while, he said, 'Are you my real father?'"

My breathing hitches a bit. Butler hears this, and glances at me before continuing.

"I was confused for a moment, but I understood after a minute. Genius Artemis may be, but he was still restricted to the mind of a child, and therefore had that childishly logical way of thinking. And though he knew you were his biological father, he thought that because I cared about the things he did, and the things he had learned and discovered, and because I would always take time and listen, I must be his, quote-on-quote, 'real' father. I told him, no, I was just his bodyguard, and he was obviously confused.

"'Then who is?' he asked me. I answered that you were, and he seemed utterly bewildered that I would suggest something like that."

"So your answer is no?" I interrupt.

Butler denies this with a shake of the head. "He needs you in a way that he needs no other person in the world."

I am silent at this, not understanding what he means, or the purpose of his story, and he leaves me alone, half in the parlor and half in the hallway, watching my children sleep.

Never once did I encourage Artemis to be kind as a child. Never once did I teach him honesty, or generosity, or selflessness. I drilled a mantra into him that made him believe as a child that it was the right thing to be greedy and proud and cold, and yet somehow he seems to have grown into a decent man, from what I can tell from my limited time with him. I know it was not I who taught him how to be so.

And as the clock strikes one, his brilliant eyes, flashing almost cat-like in the light spilling in from the hall, open.

Artemis gazes at the curls his nose is nestled into for a moment before nuzzling them gently and then turning to do the same with the other child snuggled up to him. He whispers something for the boys to hear in their, and I am so taken by the personal level of the moment — a level I have not come remotely close to experiencing with him — that I gasp a little.  
He hears, and his eyes flick toward the doorway, taking on habitual caution the moment he sees me standing there, watching him. He sits up immediately, sliding the toddlers out from his arms, making sure that they will not fall before rising to his feet.

"Father."

I nod, unable to speak.

He seems wary at this, and perhaps a little perplexed. He's embarrassed to have been found in such a vulnerable position.

"Have I done something wrong?"

And it hits me like a train.

Artemis does need me, like Butler said. He needs me to listen, and to care, and to encourage. He needs me to feel _proud _of him, damn it.

"You should go to bed," I murmur, and though my voice is low, he hears it from across the room. "Go on, now. I'll take care of the boys."

Artemis nods slowly, and takes hesitant steps toward the doorway before picking up his pace and trying to slip by me, slightly awkward around me, as if the doorway isn't big enough to let him pass with enough space between him and me.

I nearly let him go before I reach back and grip his shoulder.

Artemis stiffens, and I wait until his muscles loosen a bit before I pull him toward me, taking him gently in my arms, pressing my cheek into his hair. He is nearly as tall as I am. When did this happen?

"I love you," I say, and my voice is more fierce than I mean it to be.

He seems shocked to hear this; his hands shake as they uncomfortably travel up my back to rest just below my shoulder blades, his breath perhaps a tad uncertain. I hold him tightly to me, trying to explain, to apologize only through this connection.

I cannot remember the last time I hugged my son.

Artemis eases out of the embrace only moments after I have begun it, and stands, mouth a little open, as if he wants to say something groundbreaking. He scratches his neck, he collar loosened by his sleep on the couch.

"I… love you too," he manages, self-conscious with the words, forcing himself to say something in return to me. He stays before me for a few moments more before he turns to leave, turns back a little, and then decidedness to leave for good. I watch him walk down the hallway, his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, and then he is gone for the night.

I take the twins to bed from the places on the couch, tucking them in and whispering sweet nothings into their sleeping ears before halfway closing their door and retreating to my own room, where my beautiful wife lays quiescent.

I ready for sleep and then tuck my own self in, stretching to accommodate the feeling of my bed. I quickly fall to a doze, half-formed thoughts and dreams flitting briefly on the edge of slumber.

And I realize, moments before my memory of the night ends, that this is the first time I remember telling Artemis that I love him.


	6. Repetition

**My apology about the much-delayed HTPW chapter. What can I say? Life is busy.**

* * *

The personal communicator was ringing incessantly.

Brigadier General Short gave a howl of frustration, pushing off from her desk and letting her hoverchair glide her across her office to her gym bag, which sat innocently enough on a shelf. The ringing came from the side pocket, muffled by the padding of lone socks, gum wrappers, and a half-used stick of deodorant that had long since-lost its cap and accumulated a coating of sticky grime.

She rummaged around the pocket, searching for the place it had landed when she had thrown it in the last time she had tried to quiet the damn thing, and managed to locate it as the last ring was sounding before she knew her voicemail would take over.

Holly glanced at the number and pursed her lips; an unknown caller, which did not happen often in the Lower Elements. 26 of the 27 calls to her personal communicator that day had been an unknown caller. The other one had been an old, confused female dwarf in the suburbs looking to sell her socks.

Having this gargantuan amount of anonymous calls was simply unnerving.

She had called Foaly into her office and given the communicator to him in an attempt to trace the caller and report him for harassment, but Foaly had been absolutely stunned to realize that none of his equipment could trace the call, no matter what method he used to try and pin down the location. Holly could tell by the way his tail had switched back and forth, occasionally knocking over her pen cup, that he was scared.

But the frightening thing wasn't that the calls couldn't be traced.

The frightening thing was that the one person who would have had the cleverness to make the calls untraceable had been dead for twenty-seven years.

She sat in her chair, staring at the small metal communicator clutched in her hand — they seemed to get smaller and smaller, it seemed — with her face stuck in a expression that Foaly would call "exceptionally pissed off."

"Don't answer the calls," he had warned her. "We don't want a fiasco on our hands. The last thing we need is for someone to kidnap you again."

But it was tempting; terribly so, and she found herself itching to flip it open and answer the call. Luckily for Holly, the ringing stopped as, once again, the call was forwarded to her automatic voicemail.

"Gods," she muttered, and gave the communicator one last withering glance before tossing it back in her gym back and hovering back to her desk.

Her work area was Spartan. It was a simple metal-and-glass, modern but professional, and Holly chose to keep it sparsely decorated. There were a couple of cups of special e-form signing pens, a random hodgepodge of hard drives that Foaly had dropped off earlier, eager for a guinea pig, and an electronic frame or two. There was one frame, however, that did not display digital, high definition photos. It was an old, human photograph, a little faded and peeling at the edges. It must have been taken about sixty years prior to the current date, because it displayed a slightly younger, vivacious-looking Holly with her arm proudly slung around a man of about sixty-five, his gray hair falling almost youthfully across his brow, a sort of playful gleam shining from the brilliant blue eyes that peered over his glasses.

Holly sighed, a hand cupping her cheek as she remembered the great time of Artemis Fowl.

Her communicator went off again.

"D'Arvit!" she shouted, slamming a hand down on her desk. Her cup of e-pens spilled all over the floor, but she was already on her way over to her gym bag, ripping the damned thing out of it and flipping it open in fury.

"What, damn it, what?"

"Oh," came a slightly stunned voice from the other end. "Forgive me, I had no intention to bother you —"

Holly glanced at the number; sure enough, it was the anonymous caller, and then pressed a button that began to feed the audio straight to Foaly's computers. "You've called me 27 times today. Who are you, what do you want, and how could you have possibly made your call anonymous to me?"

"Anonymous?" said the voice. "I'm sorry, I really didn't know —"

"Where are you calling from?"

What came next was a punch straight to the gut.

"I'm calling from some sort of communication device in the previous home of the Fowl family."

Holly couldn't speak for a moment. Not only was the answer completely unexpected — she had thought it had been a case of another 12-year-old Artemis, sticking his nose into what he shouldn't — but it was downright creepy, to think that someone had found Artemis's old communicator. Obviously, this person had been doing some serious snooping.

"Who are you?"

"Please," the voice said again. "I was only anxious to know to whom this was used to communicate with and if they were still alive. I'm a genealogist, and I mean no harm, ma'am, so there's no need to be abrasive —"

"_I asked you who you were."_

"Shane," he said. "Shane Fowl."

"…Fowl?"

"Artemis Fowl the Second was my great-grandfather," he explained, obviously trying to amend for his intrusion. "Nobody from his generation claimed the house — though I can't imagine why, the place is absolutely gorgeous — and it's fallen into disuse. The family has decided to store the house, but there were some things to clear out. This, eh… device was in a wall safe in what was apparently Artemis's study."

Her computer awakened, and Holly hovered over to her desk; Foaly had pulled up Shane Fowl's bio. A twenty-three-year-old man who looked rather like Artemis, though without his haughty air, had filled the screen.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am," he was continuing, "but I would love to know your relationship of whoever this device originally connected to's connection to my great-grandfather; mapping the Fowl history has always been rather important to me."

Holly kept her gaze fixed on Shane's picture. "Do yourself a favor," she told him. "Don't call me again." With that, she flipped the communicator shut and lay it on the corner of her desk.

It didn't ring again.

* * *

Hundreds of miles above, Shane Fowl blinked, staring in confusion at the small device in his hand. He sat in a dim, dusty room, perched on a trunk containing old books, and contemplating the odd conversation he had just had. Obviously, the woman on the phone… thing hadn't had connection to his great-grandfather; no one could live that long, so obviously this had been some descendant, or friend. Or perhaps the device on the other end had passed from random person to random person, and the woman hadn't been connected to him at all.

Either way, the device only had one number programmed into it.

"Shane?" came the voice of his wife from down the hall, and he placed the device onto the trunk. "Shane?"

"In here, dear," he called, and she stepped in, wrinkling her nose at the dusty, gloomy study, the only light coming from behind the heavy velvet curtains.

"Was this Artemis's?"  
"Mm. He was obviously quite studious."

"I guess so," she said. "I came up to tell you that you're grandfather's here."

"You mean… not Julius?"

"The very one."

Shane stood, a smile on his face. "Haven't seen the old man in years."

"He's on his way up."

And sure enough, a hunched old man peered through the doorway, gazing around the room and chuckling to himself before hobbling inside.

"Yes, this seems just like my father's style, doesn't it?" he murmured, a fond smile on his face.

"Hey, Pop."

Julius's focus turned to Shane. "My dear boy. I haven't seen you for so long."

Shane leaned into the soft, wizened fingers that touched his cheek. "Life is busy."

"And I'd like to live my last years to the fullest."

"Don't say that, Pop."

Julius sighed, and eased himself onto the trunk, looking around the room again. "Do you know the one thing I regret not discovering about my father?"

Shane sat next to him. "What's that?"

"I never fully understood why he named me what he did." The old man frowned, his eyes tracing all of the books that still lined the walls. "Julius isn't a family name, or an Irish name, or French, for my mother. No matter how many times I asked him — and believe me, I asked him plenty — he never once told me more than that it was a tribute to the first woman he had ever loved."

Shane was quiet, watching his grandfather, who was still surveying the room through the stagnant air.

"What made you think of that, Pop?" he asked.

Julius shrugged a bit. "I just miss him sometimes."

"I'd like to have met her."

"What, the woman who first caught the heart of my father? She must have been a spectacular woman, Shane."

Shane smiled putting an arm around the thing shoulders of his grandfather. "I bet she was, Pop," he said. "I bet she was."

* * *

**Did the math. It would have put Artemis at about 98 when he died of old age. A long, happy life. And now... reviews?**


	7. Le Mien

**Short one from Butler.**

* * *

I can't remember what it feels like to breathe. My lungs burn, irritated, but I can't bring myself to do anything but stare at this fragile, beautiful thing in my arms. This thing… this _child_ is essentially mine.

There's movement around the room, bustling, voices, but they don't matter. The only thing that matters is that I have a baby cradled against my chest, and that that baby's large, blue eyes are staring right into mine.

All the years I spent training, working tirelessly, muscles burning, blood pounding… all of it was for this tiny human being, barely ten minutes into the world and already exploring it with contemplative eyes, already learning and forging ahead.

I'm already proud of this child. There's already a connection, a sort of tie threading his tiny, fluttering heart to mine, which I can feel is beating erratically. I do believe that this is the closest thing I have ever felt to love. This baby, soon to grow before my eyes, stretching, reaching into the unknown, from an infant to a toddler to a child, and then to a teenager, and an adult, belongs to me, and I to him. No matter where he chooses to go, I will follow. I know it will be so, and I promise it will be so. I _promise_ you. You...

Artemis.


	8. Give My Regards

**This came to me during a shooting day. It may seem OOC... but I simply couldn't resist. Ahoy, a comedic drabble instead of a dramatic one!**

* * *

"You're going to New York to do _what?_"

Artemis scowled, peering over the edge of his laptop, and took a delicate bite of his apple. "I'm going for business, Holly. Isn't that what I just said?"

From the back of the study, who was supposedly reading _Guns and Ammo_, chuckled deep in his chest.

"No, no, no," Holly insisted, rocking back and forth on his ottoman. "After that. You said in your time off…" She clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling.

Artemis sighed, his brow clenching and his voice strained and slow as if he were very patiently explaining something to a small child. He put his apple on the small plate on the table beside the chair. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to experience Broadway; I so rarely get to. I simply do not see what the issue you have with it is."

Holly quirked an eyebrow. "So tell me, Artemis," she said. "Do you know any show tunes?"

"Of course I do," Artemis sniffed, typing away with much more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. "It's a basic part of anyone's musical repertoire."

"Um… sure." She grinned. "Do you know a lot?"

"A fair amount," he replied. "My favorites reside in A Chorus Line, Cats, Crazy for You, Company, Camelot, Chicago, Caroline or Change…" He cocked his head, thinking for a moment. "I suppose I should add Cabaret to that list as well."

"Do you have a thing for musicals starting with C?"

"Heavens, no. How foolish." Artemis rolled his eyes, forced in his distraction, to write a typo into his paper. He quickly pressed the delete key, flushing in embarrassment at his error. "I simply picked a letter from the alphabet and listed my favorites starting with that letter."

"Frond, Artemis."

"What?" he asked, indignant.

"That's… a lot of musicals."

"I told you I knew a fair amount."

"He sings them in the shower sometimes," Butler added from the other side of the room.

Holly burst out laughing.

Artemis was absolutely livid, nearly to the point of hurling his computer at his bodyguard, who sat casually in an armchair on the other side of his study.

"_I was seven!"_

"Your mother's going to show the video at your wedding."

"So she so constantly reminds me," Artemis snapped. "Thank you very much for sharing that nice little tidbit, Butler, really. It feels so nice to be laughed at."

Butler shrugged, never once taking his eyes off of his magazine. "Builds character."

Holly, meanwhile, was on the floor, in stitches. "Oh, _Gods_, that's amazing," she managed so gasp. "What was he singing, Butler?"

Butler snuck a sly look from Artemis, whose glare could have frozen the sun and took the leap anyway.

"_Tits and Ass_ from A Chorus Line, if I remember correctly."

Artemis turned bright red and looked about ready to explode as Holly's cackles echoed through the room. "I didn't know what it meant!"

"Artemis, that's weak. You knew _exactly_ what that song was about."

Holly slowly began to recover, pulling herself up over the side of the ottoman, her face purple from laughing so hard. "You know the funniest thing about this, Artemis?" she asked once she had regained a shred of control. "It's not that you like live theater. It's just that you are just so _fruity _sometimes."

Artemis was outraged. "I beg your pardon?"

"Show tunes? Really?" She grinned at him, flashing her molars. "And you really like fashion, don't you?"

"I like _suits_."

"Please, I saw how your mother dressed you when you were a baby," she scoffed. "You had knee-high socks and a gay little ribbon around your collar."

Butler buried his face in his magazine, snorting with laughter. Artemis's eyes narrowed, his suspicions automatically pointing toward Foaly.

"I think you're a closet homosexual."

"_Holly Chrysanthemum Short!"_

"Oh, come _on_, Artemis," she laughed. "I'm just teasing you. It's nothing to ruffle your feathers over."

"Oh, really? Do you like it when other officers call you a butch?" Artemis snapped.

Holly pursed her lips. "Well, that's different."

"Hardly."

"Is so."

"Butch."

"Queer."

"_Butch."_

"_Queer!"_

By now, Butler had nearly had an aneurism in his chair, swayed to utter hilarity by the sheer ridiculousness of their bickering. Holly skipped over and patted him lightly on the back, checking up on his heart. Despite Artemis's attempt to defeat her in the verbal spar, she had triumphed, for once, and was in an exceedingly good mood.

_Holly: 1, Artemis: 2847._

When she looked back Artemis had stuffed himself back into the depths of the cushy armchair, his computer on his lap, his lower lip slightly pouted. He looked like an overgrown child stuffed into his father's suit. Holly bit her lip to keep from laughing at him (because, really, his pride had been insulted enough for the day) and sauntered over. Artemis ignored her.

She sat back down on the ottoman, smoothing her hair back like nothing had happened, and returned to her position of slumped attention.

"You know what, Arty?" she said after a moment of stony silence. Artemis, against his will, glanced up before hurriedly looking back to his computer screen. Holly smiled anyway.

"I really have no clue what I would do without you."

The corner of Artemis's lips rose a bit, but quickly fell again. Holly hopped up and sat on his armrest, reaching across him to grab the lightly nibbled apple from the table. She took a huge chomping bite, thought for a moment, and then said through a mouthful of fruit:

"Even if you are a poof."

* * *

**I absolutely adore the idea of Artemis knowing show tunes. And his mother dressing him like a girl. I'd, eh... love feedback on this one. Comedy is not my forte.**


	9. Shortly to be Fowl

In an ideal wedding, the weather would be perfect, with the sun shining through the few clouds dotting the clear blue sky, turning the lush green of the countryside a healthy golden color. The flowers would be blooming, flourishing accents to the beauty of the guests and above all, the bride and groom. Everyone would be civil and kind and the ceremony and reception would be filled with smiles. At the end of it all, the happy newlyweds would be left with no bad feelings, undying love for each other, and an entire honeymoon to spend on nothing but themselves.

In an ideal wedding, the bride would not be having a swearing fit in her dressing room.

Juliet rubbed her temples, grimacing as she tried to be patient and drown out Holly's continuous monologue of "Shit, shit, shit… God, shit."

The bride looked stunning of course, all Juliet's doing. Holly had succumbed to the younger Butler's feverish ideas of a big white wedding and had let her do all of the planning gleefully with Angeline. Juliet had ensured that the entire ensemble of Holly's dress was going to be perfect. And yet here she was in her dressing room in nothing but a slip and panties, pacing around the dress in nervous circles.

And really, Juliet was getting a little pissed off with Holly's anxiety. She had spent hours designing the dress and days standing over the shoulders of the seamstresses, making sure they got every detail right. But thirty minutes before she was to walk down the aisle, Holly was fretting and not in her dress.

"Shit… ow! D'arvit…"

It was a beautiful thing, strapless and relatively simple. The entire outer layer was a floaty, gauzy material that, from the middle of Holly's thighs down cascaded in a gorgeous tumble of silvery white, shimmering and shifting with the slightest movement and wind. From the top of the dress to the bottom of the backside, silk ribbons bound the material tightly to the interior corset, criss-crossing effortlessly in a look that was, Juliet was proud to admit, conservative but simultaneously sexy. At the hemline, discreet silver beads had been painstakingly sewed into a windblown pattern, adding to the overall allure of the dress.

Currently, Holly was nervously fingering the bottom of her slip, her nails done professionally in a French manicure, per Juliet's command. The Butler woman had done her hair, which now fell to the space between her shoulder blades, into a brilliant French twist (again with the French influence… she would have to make sure she didn't begin to lean heavily on that particular fashion) that elongated Holly's neck and closed with a single silver spinning moonflower, nearly extinct and courtesy of one of Dom's contacts in mountainous China. Her make-up was simple but effective, emphasizing her heterochromatic eyes and full, pouty lips. If Artemis didn't at least have to shift his trousers when he saw Holly walk down the aisle, Juliet would take it upon herself to personally beat the man senseless when he came home from their honeymoon in northern Italy.

But right now, in this stuff dressing room in an old church with a fretting bride, Juliet had had enough.

"Holly," she snapped, and the elf's eyes snapped to her. "You are going to ruin your nails."

"Um…"

Juliet strode forward and grabbed the hem of Holly's slip, yanking it up. The bride yelped and slammed her palms downward, stopping the progress of the slip to just above her panty line.

"What are you _doing?_"

Juliet's expression was absolutely feral. "Holly, do you really want _me _to undress you before _Artemis_ does?"

She blushed. "I — what — no…"

"Then I suggest you take this slip off yourself and get into that dress. Now."

Holly backed away slowly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What makes me think that Artemis hasn't undressed me yet?"

Juliet raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. "He practices celibacy, Holly."

"And how would _you _know that?"

The rendition of her soon-to-be husband's vampire smile was so well done that it had Holly flying out of her slip and scurrying to get into her wedding dress without Juliet having to say a thing.

* * *

Artemis had made sure everything was in order; that the rings had arrived safely, that the ushers were not playing hooky with the flower girls, that his mother had enough tissue packages to last her through the ceremony, the reception, and the car ride in between, and everything else that had decided to pile on to the wedding bandwagon. Had the caterers gotten the order right from his email? Had he given the band the address of the reception hall? He couldn't remember… And had No.1 properly shielded all of the fairy guests? What about the organist? God, he hadn't checked to see if she had arrived yet… And Lord, he hadn't managed to get a word into his father to watch his brothers; he suspected Myles of research in fairies, much like he himself had done at that age.

His hands shook as he did his cuff links, so much that he had to ask Butler to do them for him. His bodyguard looked concerned. Artemis looked green.

"Are you alright?" Butler asked for the umpteenth time.

"Fine," Artemis replied, yet again, staring straight ahead.

Once Butler had fastened his cuff links Artemis took one last look in the mirror, making sure not a hair was out of place, and strode through the door of his dressing room, walking stiffly into the antechamber to the sanctuary.

Butler caught up with him easily.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Butler, I'm fine," Artemis snapped, most definitely not fine.

"You look like you're about to explode from stress."

"I'm _fine_."

"Yes, so you've said."

Artemis reached for the handle on the door, but was stopped when Butler's own large hand clapped over his.

"Artemis, listen to me." The man took a deep breath, ignoring the look of utter impatience on his principle's face. "When you walk through this door, it will be the last time as an unmarried man."

"I've realized that, Butler."

"Do you really want Holly to walk through this door as her last time as an unmarried woman and see you standing like you are now?"

Artemis blinked and looked down at his stance. He stood rigidly, as if someone had threaded a thick metal cable down his spine and pulled it tight.

"Relax," Butler commanded, and Artemis slumped down a little. Butler reached over, poking and prodding until Artemis's posture satisfied him. "This is your wedding day."

"Yes, I know that," Artemis said, his tone harsher than usual. "That's why I'm stressed, Butler. Because this has to be perfect for Holly —"

"Hold on there," Butler said. "It has to be perfect for Holly?" He laughed softly. "Artemis, to be honest, I doubt Holly really cares about the big white wedding. All she cares about here is you." The prodigy relaxed a little bit under his hand. "So all you have to worry about is being the man she fell in love with."

Artemis opened and closed his mouth, apparently at a loss for words. He looked back at the door, and then back at his bodyguard and best friend.

"Thank you," he whispered, and wrapped his arms around the surprised man. "Thank you."

* * *

"Gods, what a day," Holly sighed, collapsing next to her husband, who lay half-comatose on the bed in the honeymoon sweet. Out the window, houses on the hills of Como twinkled faraway, the moonlight shining off the water.

"A good one, I hope," he murmured, running a hand through her recently freed hair.

"Mm," she agreed, and then chuckled quietly. "Your little brothers know how to party."

He huffed his amusement, stroking up and down her back, up and down, up, down…

"Artemis, we're married," she said, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that she had a husband.

"_What?" _The look on his face was one similar to an two-week-old puppy that had just seen its mother his by a truck. "I thought that was my birthday party!" He laughed as Holly punched him in the stomach.

"Prat."

"Sorry."

They lay there lazily, Artemis resuming his tracing, dipping lower and lower and lower…

"Hey, now," Holly scolded as his fingers brushed the raised hemline of her reception dress.

"What? We're married." He grinned, cheeky, and lowered his lips to her jaw line. "I finally get to undress you, love."

Holly snorted, and then began to laugh in earnest, her hoots echoing through the honeymoon suite. Artemis looked utterly baffled.

"What?"

Holly wiped away the jovial tears that were slipping down her cheeks. "I'm afraid Juliet beat you to it, love."

Artemis looked stricken, and she threw her arms around his neck, tackling him back down to the surface of the bed, rolling so that she lay directly on top of him, languidly tracing his facial features.

"She was threatening me, dear. Nothing more."

"I always suspected…"

"Oh, don't be judgmental, Artemis." Holly smiled, pecking his chin. "She was just threatening me into my wedding dress."

"Pre-wedding difficulties for you as well?"

"She knew about our celibacy agreement. Bit scary, how she knew that. I'm kind of confused about it."

Artemis gave her a withering look. "I told her, Holly."

Holly blinked, and then smacked her husband on the chest. "Unbelievable!" She rolled off of him and lay on her back, crossing her arms like a child.

"Oh, come now, Holly. Juliet deserved to know; she's one of my best friends, after all."

"That's not what made me mad. I thought she was spying or something." Holly frowned. "She was quite convincing of it. She smiled your smile. It was thoroughly creepy."

Artemis smirked, and then assumed the position Holly had just been in, cupping her face in his hands. She tilted her head, eyes drooping as Artemis gently kissed her forehead.

"Now," he said. "Undressing."

Holly laughed, throwing back her head, and he joined her, their consecutive joy merging and bouncing around the room until they quieted, twined next to each other in the middle of the enormous king-sized bed. They lay there, the minutes passing by until Artemis leaned toward her and kissed her gently on the hair. Holly did not stir.

He smiled slightly, deciding not to wake her up, knowing they had all the time in the world to love each other, and whispered softly to her;

"I love you, Holly Fowl."

* * *

**For Kit, who is today going to be Kit Basseri. Break a leg, girly.**


	10. A Beautiful Mess

**I know I just submitted one of these, but this one just popped up today. It's rather long... I suppose these are not really drabbles, nor were they ever... more like a collection of absolutely random short stories. Unlike Kit Heart's brilliant _Fowl Shorts/Ties_, there is no plot to these.**

* * *

I woke up in the trunk of a car.

It wasn't like Father's trunk, specially made for holding people. This trunk was just normal, though no matter how hard I tried I couldn't find the emergency latch to open it. I felt the car rumbling over road beneath me. What was the last thing I remembered?

A party. _My _party. I was four years old today.

Where was Butler?

The car sped over a bump, and my head hit the top of the trunk. Who were these people, and why had they taken me?

Because of Father, of course. Whenever I asked what he did for a living, whenever he left in the middle of the night or unloaded gadgetry and equipment onto the dining room table, Mother would tell me, "Daddy's a salesman, darling."

But I always doubted it. I closed my eyes, remembering. There was no difference between having my eyes closed and having them open.

"_He has to go see a client."_

A client. Despite their uselessness, I open my eyes again. Is that who these people are? "Clients" of my father? I know, at least, that my father works with money. Maybe he borrowed some from them and forgot to give it back.

Butler told me that should I ever be kidnapped or trapped in a trunk, I should kick out one of the rear lights. I searched my foot along the back of the compartment several times, searching for the pocket he showed me, but I can't find it. I wonder how long it's been since they took me. I wonder if anyone has noticed. I wonder if anyone but Butler and Mother care.

I realized that the car has been stopped when the vibrations from the engine stop. A mantra Butler has always told me sounds through my head.

"_Always pretend you're asleep unless they hurt you for sleeping."_

I dropped my head down and go limp just in time. The trunk was opened and light flooded in. A hand roughly poked my side.

"The bugger's still asleep." A deep voice, rough and harsh.

"Get the boy," comes another, mature and commanding. British. "Bring him inside. None too gentle, mind you."

"That had to be the easiest job I've ever done." This voice belongs to a weedier man, stilted and sneery. "Scrawny little shit didn't even scream when we snatched him. His babysitter — big guy, mind you — didn't even notice."

The rough voice again. "Coulda gotten a bunch of _girls _to do the job."

The British man spoke, somewhat amused. "Then what the hell did I hire _you_ for?"

Some laughter. Violent hands dragged me out of the trunk, hitting my head on the top as I was pulled into the open air. My skull throbbed, and I fought not to whimper. I was thrown over the man's shoulder and carried for a while. The men discussed payment. I listened, and realized the weedy man was carrying me.

He dropped me down into a chair, jarring my spine. I let my head loll forward as he tied my wrists behind my back, and then my ankles to the legs of the chair.

There was a moment of silence, and then the British man spoke.

"Wake him up."

There was another quiet second and then I was hit on the face. My skin burned, and I felt tears of pain well up behind my eyelids.

"_Always pretend you're asleep unless they hurt you for sleeping."_

I wasn't able to open my eyes before the second slap came, and I let out a gasp when my eyelids shot back, the horrible prickling on my face intensifying. I looked around, memorizing my surroundings. I was in the middle of an empty warehouse filled with wooden boxes. The only light came from bulbs hanging way up high near the ceiling, casting a greenish glow everywhere.

"There we go," said the rough-voiced man, and looked up at him through my tears. He was solid with a mean face. Beside him stood a man, skinny but with sinewy muscles in his forearms, his nose hawk-like. On his other side was a handsome, well-groomed gentleman in a business suit. I assumed, correctly that this one was the Brit.

"Ah, good evening, little Artemis," he said, and knelt in front of me. "I'm terribly sorry to have interrupted the festivities, but I need to ask a favor of you."

"_Don't say anything unless they hurt you."_

I frowned, but remained silent.

He noticed, and raised a carefully tweezed eyebrow. "I'm going to call your father in a few hours. I need you to scream for me then." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Can you do that for me, Artemis?"

Again, I said nothing. But now he looked angry.

"Answer me," he said.

I didn't. He raised a hand to slap me.

"No," I blurted as his hand started to come down, but he hit me anyway. My neck snapped to the side. Now both my cheeks burned.

"You will scream for me," he said, but now he was quiet and commanding. His voice sounded calm but dangerous. He and I looked at each other's eyes for a moment. My eyes were scared and filled with tears. His were cold and angry, like my father's, but worse.

"Untie him," he said. The weedy man visibly wilted.

"After all that trouble I went to tie him up…" he whined. The British man glared at him.

"_Now."_

"Yessir, yessir," Weedy grumbled, and walked behind me to untie my hands, using more of his nails than were necessary. My wrists felt raw.

"Downstairs you'll find a closet," the British man told Rough. "There are guards down there. They'll let you through. Throw him in and lock the door. Keep the lights off." He gestured to somewhere behind me. "The stairs are back there. Once you've locked him in, position yourself at the top of those stairs with guns at the ready. I have business to attend to." When Weedy began to untie my feet, the British man looked at me, a smile on his face that seemed more scary than friendly. "I'll see you soon, little Artemis."

True to their commands, the hired men dragged me down the stairs and locked me in a small, damp closet with no light. I raised myself to my hands and knees as I heard the lock click and their footsteps fade away. Outside the door there were four men with big guns, the kind Butler has shown me in his inventory. The kinds of guns that could kill a lot of people pretty fast.

A drop dripped onto the top of my head and burned. I touched my hair. It was sticky. I was bleeding from hitting the trunk.

Shaking, I lay back down. There was no way Butler could find me here, and if he did, he might get shot by all the men with big guns. I trembled, and then let myself sleep again.

It really only seemed like I had blinked before light hit me again. The British man was in front of my again.

"Come with me, Artemis."

"_Never struggle. Just do what they tell you."_

I rose to my feet and he snatched my shoulder, steering me out of the closet and into the arms of Rough and Weedy again. They dragged me up the stairs and back to the chairs. Weedy tied me back down, while the British man pulled out a cell phone and dialed, looking at me in a way that meant he was thinking. I was nervous. It was obvious by this point that this man was the boss.

He pressed a button on the phone. The speaker activated. The phone rang, loud and clear, and then someone picked up.

"Hello?" Butler. I felt some of the tension leak from my shoulders.

"You must be the bodyguard," the boss said. "Why don't you hand this phone over to the man of the house."

"Do you have Artemis with you?" Butler sounded strained to a breaking point, so much that I almost said 'yes' out loud, but yet another one of his mantras reminded me not to.

"_Don't speak unless they tell you to."_

The boss narrowed his eyes. "Give the phone to Mr. Fowl. I suggest you do it now."

There was a pause, and then some static as the phone was transferred from hand to hand. Then, my father's voice: "Who the hell is this and what have you done with my son?"

The boss chuckled. "This is Mr. Clyde Dawson. Remember me? Remember my banking company? Remember extorting millions and millions of dollars from me?" His face looked controlled, but I knew he was angry. I was finally getting a clue for what my father did for a living. "And not to worry; your boy is right here." He grinned at me, winking. My stomach clenched.

"Dawson —" my father snarled.

"_Mr._ Dawson, if you will," Dawson replied. "After all, I do have precious cargo with me right here. You might want to show some respect."

I wanted to tell him that I wasn't precious to my father at all, but he hadn't told me to speak, so I remained silent.

"Fine," my father said. "Mr. Dawson." It sounded hard for him to say. "Wacom-Dawson Banks, Inc."

"You killed my business partner and stole everything from me," Dawson hissed. "I think it's time for a little payback, yes?"

"I'm sure we can work out some —"

"No," Dawson interrupted. "There will be no 'working out' by any means. You will do what I tell you to do." He looked at me. "Artemis, why don't you show your daddy why he should do what I want him to."

He's not my daddy, I thought. He's my father. And then I realized he wanted me to scream, like had had asked me to. I clamped my lips shut.

"Come on, now," Dawson said. My breathing quickened, but I remained silent. His face grew darker.

"Artemis," my father said. "Do what he wants."

But I couldn't give Dawson the satisfaction. I would show my father that I wasn't weak. I looked away.

"O'Brien. Hobble." Dawson's voice was sharp. "Pull up his shirt."

My father spoke, his voice remaining calm. "Dawson, I'm sure we can get this done without you having to hurt the boy."

Against Butler's rules, I struggled as the men pulled my shirt out of my pants, hoisting it up. The legs of the chair clattered on the ground, but I remained quiet.

O'Brien or Hobble — it was impossible to tell which was which, but it was the rough one — held my shoulders strong, making it impossible for me to move. Weedy pulled a switchblade out of one pocket and flicked it open with a quick click. Its blade shone cruelly in the greenish light.

I whimpered a bit.

"You've got one last chance," Rough said, but only to me. I couldn't get my jaw to open, so he looked to Weedy. "Do it, Hobble."

Hobble brought his knife to just below my ribs on the left side and pushed. The pain that sprouted there grew and grew as my blood began to flow over my skin. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt… But I remained quiet, noticing that Dawson was watching me intently. I was strong, I had to be strong, I had to prove to my father…

Hobble pushed it in deeper. My eyes widened, tears flowing down my cheeks. White hot energy pulsed through my blood.

And before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth and let out the loudest, most horrible, grating sound I had ever produced, the sound echoing off the boxes and the high ceiling, bouncing around the room.

Dawson laughed, and Hobble eased the knife away out of my skin. The blood made a terrible sound as the blade exited my body. I could hear myself sobbing, but I wasn't connected to it.

"Well done, Artemis," Dawson said. "Very good job."

"Artemis…" My father didn't sound quite as composed anymore, but very little emotion was in his voice anyway. "Dawson. Give me the terms. Now."

My sobs had decreased to whimpering cries.

"I want 75 million dollars," Dawson said. "Cash. There's an address on your kitchen table. Get it there, notify me, and I'll have your boy delivered right to your front gate. And you might want a security upgrade. Just saying."

"75… million?" my father said, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. So all he cared about was his money. My cries upped in pitch.

Dawson kicked my leg, hard. "Shut the hell up, kid."

"Don't touch him," my father said. "You'll have the money by morning."

And the phone line went dead. Dawson raised an eyebrow and then closed his phone, eyeing me. I tried my best to stop crying. I didn't want this man to see me cry, no matter how much he hurt me.

But I had been weak. I had disappointed my father. My father, who was always strong. My father, who never smiled or cried or laughed. My father, who only cared about his money.

"Take him back downstairs," Dawson said to O'Brien and Hobble. "I don't want him out of that closet until Fowl's paid me."

So O'Brien threw me over his shoulder and they marched me back down and threw me in the closet. Before the door had even closed I was clutching at my side, feeling the burning pain where Hobble had cut me. It was still bleeding a lot and I couldn't see it stopping in the near future. Another one of Butler's rules had me ripping my dress shirt off.

_Asses the damage. Use what you can to fix it._

I used my teeth to tear it, straining and ripping until my fingernails began to peel off my fingers, making them sticky with more blood. Eventually I had torn it enough to make a bandage, and began to wind it around my chest until I could tie it. I felt the pressure slowing the blood, and I curled up on the concrete, wanting to cry,

I don't know how much time passed. I knew it was hours. The pipes above dripped on me, and my stomach began to rumble uncomfortably. I grew tired, but I was too scared to sleep. There was no sound from outside, but I knew there were guards with their big guns, and my father didn't care, and I was cold and alone and hungry and tired and so _scared_…

I heard gunshots.

I sat up, feeling the cut on my chest protest my movement. Gunshots far away, muffled by layers of concrete. There was stirring outside the door. The guards could hear it too.

Someone was coming. Someone bigger and badder than Dawson was coming to take me away. They were going to hurt me more. Fear spread from my heart to the rest of my body.

Shouts, closer than the gunshots. I backed up in the closet until I hit the wall, and then curled up, squeezing my eyes closed and pressing my hands over my ears.

More shots. They sounded like popping, gaining more definition as they came closer. The guards were shouting, and then they started shooting. The sound was deafening, and my brain rattled in my skull. I closed my eyes even harder, wishing it would all go away.

There were screams and yells and blasts echoing off the walls, more and more, and then fewer and fewer until there were none. Footsteps. Talking. Then someone tried the door.

Oh, God, they were going to take me somewhere worse.

A moment of silence, and then I heard them kick the door in. It landed with a huge crash, wind and splinters peppering my face. Dust settled, and then there was silence.

Hands pulled at mine, forcing them to come away from my head. I struggled; who cared about Butler and his rules, not at a time like this, not when somebody worse was her. But whoever had my hands was strong, and pulled them away. They made calming sounds, saying shh, shh, Artemis, it's okay, but I kept my eyes closed, and I heard myself spouting nonsense, crying and telling them to go away, go away…

"Artemis. Open your eyes, son."

I knew that voice.

I squinted, making sure it was real, and then opened my eyes all the way. My father was in front of me, holding my hands. A look was on his face I had never seen before. He touched the clumsy bandages I had made.

"Where did they hurt you?" he asked. His hands were surprisingly gentle on my torn fingertips. I showed him, and he unwrapped the strips of fabric, his face getting angry when he saw the cut on my ribs. It stretched underneath the right side of my ribcage, deep and inflamed.

"These bandages aren't bad. You've taught him well, Butler," he said. I looked past him, and sure enough, Butler was standing in the doorway, a huge gun in his hands. There was blood on his shirt, but he didn't look hurt at all. His eyes were locked on mine, gentle, concerned.

I squeaked in surprise as my father picked me up and carried me out of the closet, past all the dead men, and up the stairs. The warehouse wasn't as quiet as I expected it to be. I saw O'Brien and Hobble dead on the floor, laying in their own blood, but farther away, Dawson was moving, gripping his side where Butler had shot him.

"I told you to kill everyone in the vicinity, Butler," my father snapped. When Butler didn't shoot at once, he turned to reprimand him, but was surprised to see Butler holding out a revolver.

"I saved him for you, sir."

My father traded me for the gun. Butler cradled me in his arms, and at once, the pain went away and I was safe. I snuggled into his barrel chest and then peeked over my shoulder when I heard a strangling sound. The sight was chilling. My father was holding Dawson up by the collar, the barrel of the revolver halfway down the kidnapper's throat.

"I could burn you alive and it wouldn't be enough, you son of a bitch," my father snarled, and then pulled the trigger. I turned away, but the imprint of Dawson's blood and brains splattering the floor remained behind my closed eyelids.

Butler carried me to the car. My father said he would drive; he didn't want me taken to the hospital unless it was absolutely necessary, and so Butler was to tend to my wounds. Once Butler had me lying across the backseat of the Bentley, my father raised the partition and began to talk on his cell phone.

"How do you feel?" Butler asked, smoothing my hair away from my forehead. "You haven't said much of anything."

"I'm okay," I said, hoarse from hours without talking, and then winced as he brushed the wound on my head. His concern automatically went there, and he opened the first aid kit he had gotten out of the trunk and began applying some sort of numbing cream.

"Why did Father kill him?" I asked softly as Butler began to stitch up the cut that was apparently on my head.

He blinked. "Dawson?" He paused, gently stilling my head when I nodded. "Because he caused your father pain."

"Because he had to pay him a lot of money?"

Butler's eyebrows drew in. "No, Artemis. Because he had to listen to them hurt you."

It was my turn to be confused. "But he doesn't even like me."

My bodyguard stilled, looking utterly shocked. "What on earth makes you think that? Artemis, your father loves you."

"No he doesn't," I insisted. "He likes his money and his job more than he likes me." I stopped, worried that I had upset Butler, but he resumed stitching up my head. "What does he do, anyway?"

Butler dodged the question. "Your father has a hard time showing it, but he loves you more than life."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, I believe me." He finished my head, and moved on to the cut on my chest. He inspected it, so tender with me that I had to smile a little. He cleaned it, which burned a little, and then numbed the area and began to stitch more. "You did a very good job binding this. You've been listening to me."

"I hurt my fingers doing it." I showed him my raw fingertips.

"I'll take care of that next."

My head felt heavy, and I felt myself drifting off to sleep. Butler's rhythmic tugging and the hum of the car under me acted as a lullaby, but his voice pulled me back as he picked up my hands.

"Hearing you scream was one of the worst things I've ever had to go through," he said. "It was all I could do not to speed over here the moment I got your location."

"How…?"

"How did we find you? We tracked the phone signal." He shook his head. "Dawson's not the brightest bulb in the box."

I nodded, and let my eyes close on the dawn light filtering through the car windows. Butler's big hands were so kind on mine as he put medicine and a bandage on each finger. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of fire and dead men.

I woke up as someone set me softly in my bed, taking care to tuck the sheets around me. I felt my mother's soft hand on my forehead, and I smelled Butler's masculine scent hanging over me as he made sure the my head wound wasn't rubbing on my pillow. I felt another presence, though. A third person.

Lips touched my forehead, and I heard my father's voice murmur against my skin.

"Happy birthday, Arty."

My birthday. It was my birthday. In the hell, I had forgotten.

I was four years old.

And I was loved.

* * *

**Next up: Juliet makes her big debut.**


	11. The Giver

It was a rare occasion for Juliet Butler to be home alone. With a nearly agoraphobic mother, protective father, and a brother who frequently popped in for visits with the bored little Fowl kid, there was nearly always someone in the house, making visits with her "special someone" infrequent and risky — after all, her father was a straight-up conservative man who owned 26 guns. Not to mention the fact that she wasn't even in Ireland much to begin with, thanks to the Academy. But luck seemed to be with her today; she was on an uncommon holiday break, Artemis had dragged Dom off to France, and her parents were about to walk out the door to head off to some distantly related cousin's wedding, believing her half-assed lie of a cold.

The car hadn't been out of the driveway for a minute before the fourteen-year-old had been on the phone.

"I'll be over in ten," Sam had told her.

And at first, it had been fun. Sam had gotten over as Juliet was unloading the dishwasher as per her mother's request, and had helped until the pair were giggling and flicking water all over each other. And somehow they had ended up making out, Sam pressing Juliet up against a wall, kissing with the same kind of inexperienced frenzy that came with the youthful excitement of young love.

Maybe, if Sergio Butler hadn't forgotten to grab the wedding gift off of the dining room table, it would have gone farther. Maybe, if he wasn't such a quiet man, they would have heard the door or his footsteps, and had time to break apart. But as it was, fifteen minutes from home, Juliet's father turned the car around and drove back, walked in the door, and found his daughter kissing another girl.

They didn't even realize he was there until, after watching for a moment, his hand twitching toward the gun he always kept in his belt, he said in a terribly calm voice, "What the hell is going on here?"

What followed was long and terrible, filled with screaming and sobbing and heartache. In the end, Sam ran away, glad to still be alive, Sergio cried in front of his child for the first time in his life, nobody went to the wedding, and Juliet found herself on a busy street in Christmas-chilled Dublin without a home.

* * *

Juliet sat quietly at the empty table, watching Artemis dance with his Spanish beauty of a bride. A little ways off, Domovoi stood staring as well, his face a little pained, but no one could tell but her. The guests swirled around, enjoying the festivities, clad in colorful gowns and expensive suits, not paying any mind to the melancholy woman watching from afar, feeling as though she would never really have a place in a group of people like this.

She was so distracted that she didn't notice the groom walking over until he was sitting in the chair next to her.

"Enjoying your wine?" Artemis asked, nodding to her fourth glass. Juliet shrugged and downed what was left.

"I don't get to drink much. I think I have the right to indulge a little."

"I wasn't criticizing you," he said, and then raised an eyebrow. "Something is troubling you. I would like to know what it is, if you'll tell me."

Juliet waved him away. "Nothing, Arty. I don't want to drag you down on your wedding night. Go dance with your mom or something."

He hesitated, unsure of whether to pursue the subject, but thankfully decided to give her a break and stood up as if making for the dance floor again.

Juliet looked at her shoes, and then back up. He was still standing there, watching her as if she were one of his specimens in a Petri dish.

"What?"

"If I were you," he said, not taking his eyes off of hers, "I would use my powers of observation to notice the other lonely young woman sitting on the other side of the room in a strapless blue dress." He shrugged. "But that's just me. Try to enjoy yourself, Juliet."

She blinked, watching him ease his way back into the throng of dancers, and then glanced over to the other side of the room. Sure enough, a woman sat alone, watching the crowd with a longing that Juliet was sure had been on her own face not minutes before. With a small laugh, the would-be bodyguard stood, shaking her head, and began to head over.

_How does he always know?

* * *

_

Juliet had never looked forward to being middle-aged, knowing that it would bring about things she never wanted; wrinkles, for instance, which despite her best efforts were starting to form at the corners of her smile and eyes, and the loss of her physical excellence. And having to dye her graying roots every few weeks, and seeing the kids go to college, and being left with an empty nest.

But most of all she had dreaded the death of her brother.

"I refuse to wear black," Marylena had told her, firm as she always was. "Domovoi lived a long life and loved what he did. He was old, Julie, very old, and he should be celebrated, not mourned."

And so she had chosen to wear a long, respectfully conservative dress in the exact shade of blue she had met her partner in.

But even standing with her lover and two foster children, Juliet had never felt so alone in her life.

After the ceremony, when everyone was milling around the wide expanse of grass and she had shooed Marylena and the twins away, saying she had wanted to be alone, Artemis had breezed up, the rims of his eyes perhaps a touch more red than usual.

"Would you like a hug?" he asked, and she stared at him, remembering his disgruntled displeasure so many years back when she had called Domovoi from a pay phone in the middle of Dublin, pleading for him to come home from France and help her. How exasperated the little boy had been, scowling as Domovoi had asked his permission to return, and conceding with an impatient "If you must." And how easily and casually he had prodded her to meet the woman who would make her happier than anyone else ever could at his own wedding, reading her like a book and taking her hand and guiding her into Marylena's eyes. And now, standing before, so emotionally distraught and tired himself, letting go of his restraint for her…

"Yes," she whispered, and threw her arms around his shoulders.

* * *

The room was dusky and quiet, nothing moving but the dust motes illuminated by the crack in the curtains. The golden evening sun filtered in and illuminated a thin sliver of Artemis's body; a fitting color for his last few minutes on Earth. The old woman sitting beside his bed stroked his hand, her own wrinkles a few years deeper than his.

"Why have you always loved me, Artemis?" she asked, and his eyes slowly opened, observing her with the exhaustion that came with old age.

"My dear Juliet," he rasped. "You have always been my sister. Is that not enough?"

She stroked his bald head, sadness deep in her bones, but also joy; this was a man who had lived far longer than anyone in his family. A man who was more than ready to greet death with open arms. "But you never did for your brothers what you've done for me," she whispered. "Nor your parents. I daresay not even Butler."

Artemis blinked slowly, almost lazily. "They all had someone to fill their lives with love. But you… you never did."

"And how did you know Marylena…?"

"Juliet," he said, his voice almost reprimanding. "I'm good with people. You know that."

"Is that all you can say? You just… knew?"

"Unless you want me to go into a deep scientific explanation on pheromones, and I'm afraid there isn't time for that."

She felt her eyes fill with stinging tears. "Oh, Artemis. Don't say that."

"Why ignore the truth, my dear? I've been waiting for this for a long, long time."

She squeezed his hand gently, carefully, as his hand was only a touch more fragile than hers. "When you've passed on, I'll be alone again." She forced a smile. "You little bastard."

"I've always been selfish," he murmured, a ghost of a smile on his face. "You'll still have your children though. And your grandchildren." He raised an eyebrow so slowly that she knew it was a huge effort for him. "And a great-grandchild, I've heard?"

"He was born three days ago."

"Wonderful," Artemis murmured, and closed his eyes again. "Wonderful…"

She could feel him fading away; how, she did not know, but there was an old wisdom in her bones that told her that her would-be brother would be leaving for good very, very soon. Tenderly, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, her aged lips lingering on his skin. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

"I love you," he replied simply, and then Artemis Fowl was no more.

Juliet Butler sighed, stroked his cheek once, and then stood, making her way out of his bedroom as the golden evening light cutting across his body slowly turned to black.

Outside, her son waited by the car, his hair streaked with gray, his eyes full of concern. At the top of the stairs leading to the drive, Juliet stopped and looked back at the now-lifeless house of a childless heir, and mused over all he given her.

Because of him, she would never be alone as long as she lived.

* * *

**Well, this certainly turned out a bit more melancholy than I meant it to. It was originally just supposed to be about Juliet, but Artemis snuck in there (little bugger, he is). In further news, it's been over two days since TAC was released and FedEx has thus far failed to deliver my copy. And I have no current access to a bookstore. Poo.**

**Also, expect delays on Engima/Legacy. This school year, I can guarantee, is going to get cah-razy. Now... review?  
**


	12. After

**SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER ALERT for The Atlantis Complex.

* * *

**

Visits to the surface weren't a common thing for Holly Short anymore. Artemis's simple involvement in the Atlantis incident nearly a year ago had been enough of an excuse, however flimsy, for the Council to label him as dangerous. Holly knew this to be complete dwarf shit — or _manure_, as Foaly forced her to say when she was around his children —but the number of fairy causalities was sickening no matter what angle it was looked at from. With the Council's finger pointing, the People had someone to blame, and Artemis's reinstatement to Public Enemy No. 1, was barely opposed to.

Artemis had been in a Haven psychological facility for two months before he had been allowed to go back home to fully recuperate with Butler at his bedside, keeping to strict medical orders. Visits with him were strictly prohibited, and Holly was only allowed a half-hour of video conference with him a week, due to him being so _dangerous_, sitting there and grinning weakly from his bed.

Inevitably, Holly grew lonely for her human friend. She had her fair share of companions underground, though none of them were on perfect terms; No. 1, put out with Artemis sharing his title despite the different implications and still a little hung up on the rune incident, and Foaly who spent all of his time, spare or not, updating his security system with fever. Mulch was AWOL yet again, Trouble had approached her about a second date she definitely didn't want to go on, therefore making things thoroughly awkward between them, and her sassy gay office friend Leaf wasn't too good for anything more personal than gossip over sim-wine and short-lived nights out on the town.

So really, Holly hadn't had a real _talk _with anyone in about ten months.

Currently it was a Wednesday afternoon and Holly had just used all of her weekly minutes with Artemis, who was having a bad mental day and was very quiet and blank, leaving her in a very black mood and with the vile urge to kick something. So energetic was her anger that she had shouted at an interning cadet until he had cried and threw a very heavy data crystal at Foaly when he tried to enter her office to gloat about his youngest child winning the science fair without his help.

_You have got to pull yourself together, woman_, she thought, massaging the tips of her ears and wishing that her headache would go away. If she had had a scrap of magic in her, she could have shooed it out with a few sparks, but she had been working ever since the Atlantis incident and hadn't had time to make a Ritual trip or even take a day off for a session at a healing spa; her hips were still brittle from the explosion aboveground, despite No. 1's efforts to heal them. There was something to be said for personal magic; it always worked a little better than others'.

She scowled when a rude pinging noise echoed from her office walls; an incoming message, probably yet another e-form, was waiting for her from Foaly. No subject, no text, just an attachment… but it wasn't a form, it was a video.

Intrigued, Holly opened it and was faced with a horrendously inaccurate animation of Artemis getting into his underwater pressure suit that looked like it had been done by a five-year-old (Foaly may have been a technical genius, but was severely lacking in the artistic department). Warily, she pressed the play button and flinched when she heard his voice booming out of her speakers, the animation flickering along with all the grace of a drunken bull troll, his mouth wide and gaping.

"_And I will not be beaten by that jackass."_

The screen paused, and the video flashed backwards;

"_Beaten by that jackass."_

Holly started laughing.

"_That jackass. That jackass."_

Oh, she had completely forgotten about this…

"_Jackass. Jackass. Jackass."_

The screen froze, and then his voice came back in the distorted deep tones that came with a slow-motion track.

"_Jaaaaaackassssssss..."_

The window closed itself, thankfully cutting off the horrible drawing of Artemis's face, and Holly looked up to the camera mounted in the corner of her office, tipping an imaginary hat to the centaur she knew was watching her. Chuckling softly to herself, she got back to work, not happy, but in a much better mood than she had been before.

In the Ops Booth, Foaly sighed, grinning broadly, and filed the animation into the folder he had reserved especially for potential blackmail once Artemis was in a state of mind to appreciate it… or at least until Foaly felt like sending it to his estranged, insane uncle for a laugh or two.

* * *

**I found it so funny that Artemis said the word "jackass." Because it has ass in it. And it's canon.**

**TAC finally arrived in the mail, obviously. I don't know why it took FedEx nearly five days to deliver something from Atlanta to a big city in Texas. (SPOILER ALERT, in case you didn't get the message up top.) In any case, I thought the book was fairly disappointing, to be honest. It lacked the urgency of the others and got a bit long winded sometimes. I felt like there was little really IC, important character interaction, and it was pretty predictable and sometimes a little ridiculous (wrestling-fan zombies? Really?). And Orion was just stupid and pointless and mainly served to piss me off. And what a copout with Turnball! Arrrgghh! Foiled by his own love... Sigh. And the ending... lolwut? Was that really the end of a book or was the back of mine just torn off? **

**I agree with the sentiments of ilex-ferox. Hope you do better next time, Colfer, or we just may mindwipe you.  
**


	13. Crush

**This one is pretty far removed from canon. It was purely therapeutic for me. **

* * *

He stared at the list, his stomach finally still, his breathing finally slowed, his hands now trembling, not out of his previous anxiety, but of disappointment, slowly settling deep in his stomach. There was clamor all around, some excited, some matching his feelings, all of it pressing in on him far too close for his liking.

A hand clapped him on the back. "Hey, congrats, Beckett," someone said, walking away before he could see who it was.

"Thanks," he mumbled, futile, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrible piece of paper on the wall. "Thanks a lot."

Eventually, the uproar pushed him away from the bulletin board, casting him out into the middle of the hallway and forcing him to begin his slow walk to the front porch of the school. There, Butler waited in the car, his eyes slowly tracking the boy as he slouched into the backseat, not speaking. The senior boy crossed his arms over his chest, staring out the window in a sullen cloud of dissatisfaction.

Somehow, the bodyguard knew better than to ask.

Beckett silently churned, chewing the inside of his cheek. He remembered the feeling after his audition; the moment of absolute silence after his final note had ended, making its final rings around the hall… the people behind the desk had sat still for a moment before thanking him and sending him out to get the next person. He had left the stage knowing he had done well…

But it was more than well. He knew it was the best he had ever sung. He had felt it; felt it when the sound had exploded from his mouth, felt it with the strange tingling that roared through his veins felt the surprise of the auditioners when they had heard his very first words.

His best hadn't been enough.

_Beckett Fowl: Chorus_

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing.

If his best wasn't enough, then where could he possibly have to go?


	14. Inheritance

**An apology for the delays with Imperium. Life went a little cray-cray for a while, but things have settled down and the next chapter has been sent off to my beta, the wonderful Ru-Doragon, who also has a life and needs time to edit. So it'll be a little while longer, but it's coming.**

**Inspired by my new musical discovery of Deadmau5, who is going to be at ACL this weekend, though sadly not on the day I'm going. Which is a disappointment, because seeing him live in a crowd full of crazy ravers would be purely awesome.  


* * *

**Inheritance**  
**

It was all supposed to be safe.

His father's enterprise was entirely clean now, every last worker and aspect completely moral and legitimate. His mother's activities had been dedicated to species conservation for God's sake. Even his own business was moving farther away from crime.

It wasn't fair.

Where could you find two more loving, careful people than the Fowls? They had chosen that night to leave Butler home with the boys and to take Artemis out for a late celebration of his 17th birthday. Secretly, he had been thrilled; time alone with his parents with no younger siblings clamoring for attention was a gift in itself. It had been destined to be a perfect evening.

So why was he stepping numbly out of the police car, his suit covered in flecks of rubble and blood?

The red and blue lights were unflattering on the old stone if the Manor, flashing angrily with the sluggish beating of his heart. Artemis's face was slack and drawn; he didn't ask for the officer's help getting out of the car, but didn't resist it when it was given, his dusty shoes skidding a bit on the gravel of the driveway. He dimly noticed Butler ripping the front door open, dropping the phone in his hand and running to sweep the boy up in his arms, squeezing him tightly, and Artemis, oh God, Artemis, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...

He closed his eyes as over his bodyguard's shoulder he saw two young pairs of curious eyes peeking around the doorway. The lights flashed, inescapable through his eyelids, and it was all too much because his head throbbed and the sound of concrete and asphalt and bodies exploding still rang cruelly in his ears.

He clung to his bodyguard, his fingers clinging to the soft material of his suit, and tried in vain to squash the part of him that screamed that it should have been Butler.

* * *

The only reason Artemis went to the funeral was because of his brothers.

He didn't want to see any of it; didn't want to see the hundreds of people gathered, not out of grief but out of interest and money, or the disconnected minister reading impersonal prayers for his parents' smooth passage to heaven, or the empty coffins lowered into the ground, a memento to the now anonymous bloodstain and crater on the sidewalk in downtown Dublin.

He walked in silence down the aisle, a sobbing brother clutching each hand, bulbs flashing as the newspapers and tabloids took pictures, stubbornly quiet when the reporters asked him why he did not cry. He felt that the answer should be obvious, though he knew that they all thought that he would not cry because of their presence. But he knew he couldn't cry because his father would have wanted him to be strong and his mother would have wanted him to be happy. Was he such a horrible son that he chose to honor their wishes?

No, he was horrible because his body was trying so hard to disobey them; despite his efforts, his eyes burned horribly as he forced himself to take one last look at the cold marble that was now his parents, the somber statue of an angel above them reaching it's hands out as if it were calling him home.

* * *

He had locked himself in his room, stranded in his own sorrow. Outside was a torrential downpour, so fierce that leaves were plastered to the window by the sheer force of the rain, but inside had raged a hurricane so unbelievably strong that it had flown off the category scale, ripping apart everything it touched. His room lay in shambles, shards of glass and wood and shreds of paper and plaster cast onto the floor, his fingernails left bloody from his furious frenzy of destruction that had left him robbed of his anger and filled with nothing but anguish.

He had not made a sound during his ravaging, the only noise coming from the crashing of picture frames and books and furniture as they hit the century-old wood of the floor. The silence that followed had left a rising pandemonium in his body, an otherworldly force that had begun bubbling up, snarling to make its way out of him as chaotically as possible.

_Do not cry,_ he thought, gnashing his teeth together, for surely if he opened his lips a fraction the pain would explode out of him with deadly force. _Father would not approve of such weakness. You have shamed his memory enough as it is._

But grief is a terribly powerful thing, and he soon found himself on the floor amid the wreckage, clutching his chest and sobbing so hard that his ribs ached and his lungs burned, his tears acidic on his face. He longed, oh, how he just _longed _for someone to hold him like a child and not judge him for his heartbreak, to stroke his hair and whisper reassurance in his ear, to ease his suffering and dry the woe that slid down his jaw...

But Artemis was alone, and no one came.

* * *

The house had been very quiet ever since the funeral. Weeks had passed and there still had been no smiles or laughter. Artemis seemed to have grown into a ghost of his father since; he dressed even more impeccably than before, his manner cold and professional whether he was speaking to a collector or his brothers, working for hours on end and doing little of anything else. Butler suspected him of seeking revenge; it was in his character to do so, and the long, silent nights filled with ghostly computer light and muted phone conversations filtering from under the study door only reinforced his thoughts.

When he began to notice the lines of Artemis's eye sockets and could count the bones in his hands, Butler put his foot down. Forcing a highly independent teenage genius to eat was difficult, but he slowly began to gain weight again. As the months passed by, he began to spend less time in his study and more time in the gym, building a somewhat formidable figure. Relieved that he was healthy, Butler didn't take much notice until, nearly a year after the death of his parents, Artemis approached him with all the emotion of a rock and said something that nearly stopped his bodyguard's heart.

"I need you to teach me how to shoot a gun."

* * *

Killing the man had been surprisingly easy. Eighteen years old and broken, Artemis had made a terrifying spectacle at the other end of the gun, staring down at his victim with a quiet, calm hatred and a cold fury in his bottomless eyes. As the man's blood had stained his oak floor, the lonely assassin had allowed himself a small smile that did not reach his gaze, having accomplished sending the hunted straight to Hell after over eighteen months of preparation.

But now that the screams of the man who had had his parents murdered had faded and all that remained was the light from a few weakly glowing candles on his desk, he was left with not much more than emptiness. Taking his life had been easy, but not nearly as rewarding as Artemis had predicted it to be, and, looking in a nearby mirror at himself, he was struck by the sudden lack of motive on his face. His features were blank and unremarkable, illustrating the sudden feeling of being lost swarming inside of him.

He had finished what he had meant to finish, but what had he forfeited in the process?

* * *

A handsome bachelor at the age of forty, Artemis Fowl was a feared, revered crime lord, having abandoned his path toward legitimate business shortly after his first kill. Head of the Fowl empire, he controlled thousands of smaller mafias around the globe, all the while sitting comfortably padded on a bed of many billions of dollars. Though he lazily maintained a flimsy facade of innocence over his criminal identity, it was no secret, what he did, but his control of the world's most powerful governments and his millions of underlings forced everyone to turn a blind eye to his exploitations and casual murders.

He killed fairly frequently, and though he valued human life, he thought lowly of those were of no use to him. Far more often than not, he sent one of his men to do it, though occasionally, if he thought the person important, he would do it himself to ensure it was done correctly. In the crime world, it was considered a great honor to die directly by the hands of Artemis Fowl.

When not running his empire, he distracted himself with horseback riding and visiting his various vineyards, refusing to let himself be deterred by the death of his bodyguard, or his choice to force Myles go off to fight in the third world war when he began to grow too strong for his liking, or the disappearance of Beckett after a screaming fight that had ended with Artemis pointing his brother toward the door at gunpoint. He couldn't let trivial things such as family get in the way of his goals; sometime soon, he supposed, he would have to father an heir, preferably a boy, of course, but until then, distractions were unacceptable and dealt with accordingly, whether they were living or not.

For anyone who was not in his ranks, life was difficult and full of trial, for in his figurative tyranny, Artemis was destroying the world.

All the while, he sat safely from a distance in his fortress, watching the raging of the war he had started out of boredom, ruling the world and living a cold, emotionless lie.

* * *

Myles was killed in action the day the baby was born.

Artemis, his hair beginning to be streaked with gray, stared impassively down at the newborn son as his young, pretty Parisian trophy wife slept in the hospital bed nearby. Now that she had served her purpose, he would have to have her killed so he wouldn't have to worry about her coddling the boy, which was a pity; she looked good on his arm. The boy would be named after him, of course, and would have to be raised by his side with perhaps a stoic nanny to quiet his crying.

As he was musing about the pace of the child's curriculum, one of his most trusted men knocked on the door and announced the death of his brother.

Annoyed, Artemis rolled his eyes.

_Finally.

* * *

_

Beckett's body was found in Russia not long after Artemis The Third turned fifteen.

The boy was a mirror image of his father; cold, quiet, and commanding, a chilling figure in his impeccable suits. Artemis the Second had given him control over a prevalent Puerto Rican mafia at the age of ten and had slowly allowed him to have more and more influence in the workings of the empire until he was essentially his father's right-hand man, exactly where the he wanted him. Neither particularly cared for the other, but the elder was proud of his son's excellence and the younger was properly respectful of his father.

The boy was rarely allowed into his father's study, but generally when he would make requests to enter, Artemis would grant them. This was the present case, and the boy walked smoothly around the door, stopping in front of his fathers desk and waiting for his father's permission to speak.

"A message from Dolhov, sir."

"Relay it, Artemis, and quickly; I am dealing with business."

A pause as the boy brief scrutinized his father with cold blue eyes. "The youngest Fowl was discovered dead in a _Solntsevskaya_camp near Moscow."

Artemis the Second looked up, raising one slim eyebrow. "Is that so," he stated softly. "I gave that order three months ago." Shaking his head in disgust, he returned to writing, the eerie candles on his desk casting a disturbing shadow over his near-inhuman features.

Straightening, the younger Fowl carefully voiced his opinion. "Your brother was nearly feral, sir. I speculate that he was quite difficult to catch."

His father stared at him, his expression unreadable, his fearless eyes so piercing that the boy felt as though his very mind was being scanned and picked over for contemplation.

"Call Dolhov back," he said after a minute. "Tell him to have their kingpin taken care of for his incompetence. Beckett could have done a lot of damage to me in three months." He scoffed and dismissed his son, returning to his writing.

"Three months," he said to himself long after the boy had gone. "Despicable."

* * *

Artemis was not used to feeling the warmth of blood.

He hadn't felt so warm in years and years, and now it was suffocating him, weighing his chest down so heavily that he was forced to struggle for every breath, blinking hard in order to focus on the cold face poised above him.

His son leaned away, disgusted, as his father coughed, sending a spray of hot blood into the air.

I raised you, he tried to say, but his voice refused to work. I showed you how to stand with pride, and I thought you everything you know. And this is how you repay me?

But Artemis the Third understood the disbelief in his father's eyes and slowly cocked his head, looking the dying crime lord over like he was a vaguely interesting piece of art on the floor. "I'm quite sorry, father," he said, as calm as could be. "Truly, I sincerely apologize, but you taught me that you must do what you have to in order to get what you desire." A slow smile curled over his lips. "And what I wanted was my birthright. You may die knowing that a strong man replaced you." With a small sigh, he set the gun down on the desk, giving a disdainful glance toward the twitching form on the floor.

"Just die, would you?" he asked. "It's rather bothersome to listen to you gasping down there. And dear me, I do believe I will have to have that carpet replaced. You're far more bothersome than you're worth."

He turned away from his father for the last time, clearing the stacks of papers on the desk with a sweep of his hand.

The last thing Artemis Fowl the Second saw before death clouded his eyes were slips of pure white paper snowing down with an oddly peaceful finality.

* * *

He raised his head and was confronted by the people he wanted least to see.

They stood in foreboding silence, staring at him with every color of eye and face, drenched in their blood and sorrowful anger. Every man and woman and child killed at his hands or orders, some he remembered and some he didn't, watching him kneel in a terrible, threatening quiet.

He stopped breathing when he caught his mother's murderous glare.

"You must understand, I never wanted this," he whispered.

They began to advance, and he gripped his knees, feeling terror stir at the pit of his stomach as his brothers stepped to the front of the pack, followed by his father and bodyguard, stoic in their hostile approach.

"I'm not sorry," he whispered against his trembling lips, and curled forward, holding himself together by threads, a grieving child once more.


	15. Authority

**Hoo boy, it has been a while. Forgive me. School takes precedence over everything, especially when you're not doing so hot at it. To put it in perspective, this past week, for a span of five nights, I got a collective 15 hours of sleep. And I'm not even even close to being in college yet. About two weeks ago I sent the next chapter of Imperium to my wonderful beta, who is fighting to stay alive in uni and can't edit until after finals (so, soon).  
**

**This is a sequel to the last chapter. I got a lot of questions on where the heck the fairies went. Just to warn you, there's a whopping swear word in there, so if that bothers you... sorry. You got fair warning.  
**

* * *

What concerned her most was his stillness.

He sat motionless at his desk, his back ramrod straight, not doing anything, not touching anything. His stiff posture resembled anything but the control he was trying to force onto himself, unflinching against the rain that pounded against his windows or the wind that howled around the stone corners. Cautiously, she unshielded in his doorway, not wanting to see his cold, unruffled stare, so fake that it could chill her to the bone.

"Arty?"

"Don't call me that," he said, his voice flat. "You have no right to call me that name, Captain Short."

"Artemis," she said softly, setting her helmet gently on the floor and making her way slowly across the room. "Artemis, I'm so sorry."

He did not respond, his perfect black-and-white image corrupted by the throbbing vein in his temple.

"I only just heard," she said, trying to think of something to fix the situation, wringing her hands. "I was out for a week, on an assignment, and nobody thought it prudent to tell me over the communicator —"

"It does not matter to me."

"Look," she said, sighing softly. "I understand what you're going through. I know exactly how you feel —"

"You don't know anything," he said, and the low hiss that his voice was should have been a warning.

He turned around then, the angry red streaks and deep shadows circling his eyes a shock to the Captain.

"You don't know anything," he repeated, "and you have no place here. Don't pretend to sympathize with me right now. I know it's just another one of your ploys."

She took a step back, hurt despite his irrationality in grief. "Artemis, what the hell are you _saying_?"

"Oh, spare me your wide-eyed and misbegotten outrage," he spat. "I'm thoroughly immune to it by now."

Holly took a deep breath, reminding herself that he was only a child teetering on the edge of losing his mind. "I need you to calm down," she said, slowly, evenly. "I know you're hurting right now, but I _promise _you that things are going to get better. You can take what help I give you or you can refuse, but either way, Artemis, you're going to get through this —"

She didn't have time to duck after she saw it coming. The paperweight smashed into her temple, knocking her breathlessly to the floor, hot blood trickling down her face. Holly stared disbelievingly up through the red droplets coating her eyelashes, unable to process the cold hatred branded into the boy's face.

"Artemis…" she whispered, blue sparks already fizzing around the wound.

"Get out of here," he breathed, his eyes wide in his illogicality, his chest heaving as though he had run a marathon, his dangerously quiet voice echoing around the perfectly still room. "Get the hell out and never return. This is no place for someone like _you_."

Holly stood, staggering. "Artemis, please —"

But he had snatched a picture frame off of his desk and hurled it toward her. Holly was able to catch the image of the cheerful family photograph spinning toward her before her hands flew up and caught it, the glass shattering at her touch.

"_Get the fuck out of my house_!" he screamed, his face for once losing its whiteness and coloring a deep red. "I don't need you or anyone and I'm not crying, I'm not…"

"Please, let me help you," she begged him, taking tiny steps back towards the door, reaching a halfhearted hand out to him. "I can take you somewhere, Artemis, far away from here. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

But the books and mementos were flying toward her in quick succession, accompanied by mindless pent-up screams of horror and pain, and she could do nothing but snatch up her helmet and sprint for the door, battered by his anger and the airborne debris hitting her back, trying to ignore the tears streaming down her face in correlation with his.

* * *

Butler had disappeared.

Holly couldn't find a trace of him anywhere, feeding into the surveillance system all hours of the day. Artemis stayed in his study, leaving only to go the bathroom and passing out on his desk when he was in dire need of sleep. The twins sat silently in their nursery, their nanny trying in vain to engage them. But the bodyguard was nowhere to be found.

Holly tried calling him at least fifty times a day, leaving frantic voicemails, pleading for him to pick up even though she knew she was talking to a machine. None of his aliases had been used, according to UN records, and the last recording of him was when Artemis had ushered him out of the house, handing him a small suitcase and shooing him away.

He finally returned a week after he had left. Holly all but sprinted to the Ops Booth when Foaly messaged her with the news, desperate for news.

Butler picked up on the second ring when she called, answering with a stiff "Who is this?"

"Oh gods, Butler, it's Holly, I was so worried —"

"Excuse me, who?"

"Don't play dumb, where have you been?"

"Ma'am, I suggest you hang up or risk being arrested for harassment," he snapped. "How did you get this number, anyway?"

At that point Foaly had forcibly wrested Holly's communicator from her, ending the call with a firm click and watching grimly as Holly sank to the ground, bawling.

"He mindwiped him!" she howled, furious tears rolling down her face. "He _mindwiped _Butler! How could he do that?"

"Holly…" Foaly said, weary. "You need to let go."

"But he's gone," she whispered. "Butler's gone."

"And as good as dead," Foaly replied firmly. "Now get up off the floor, put your big-girl panties on and get back to work."

She glared at him, wiping the tears from her face and trying to regain self-control as she rose off the ground. Turning on her heel, she began to make her way out of the Ops Booth, but was stopped when Foaly spoke.

"They're not a part of your life anymore," he called after her. "They never will be. You need to realize that."

"There are a lot of things I need to realize," she murmured, and walked from the booth with her head held high.

* * *

Her hands shook. The video request pulsed on her screen, the name underneath making her heart beat erratically in her chest.

"Accept," she whispered, composing herself, and then Artemis was looking at her from hundreds of miles above, his stare menacing and bitter even over video. He simply watched her for a minute, his fingers resting gently on his temple, his hair sleeked back in a way that seemed to make his skin even paler, his broad forehead emphasizing his piercing gaze.

"I will make this short and concise," he said, his voice cracking like a whip over the speakers. Holly managed not to flinch, biting her lip to keep from saying his name.

"I have recently come upon plans in the LEP files to have me permanently mindwiped," Artemis said, ignoring the fact that the officer he was speaking to had once been his best friend. "I assure you that such plans will not succeed. If you need an example, simply think back to my thirteenth year. It was quite nearly disastrous for your… _kind_." He spat the last word like it was poison.

Holly could no longer hold back. "Why should we?" she snarled. "You mindwiped Butler two years ago."

Artemis raised an eyebrow, his upper lip curling. "Yes, well. Butler was a necessity sacrifice, Captain, something I'm quite sure you're familiar with."

She scowled deeply, the jab biting at her ego. "It's Major, Fowl."

"Yes, I am aware," he replied, sneering. "If your people are intent on carrying out this plan to mindwipe me, Short, then I would listen very carefully to what I am about to say."

"Carry on," she snapped. "I don't have all day."

He jutted his chin out, somehow looking down on her even over video. "Make sure your superiors hear of this," he said. "Should you wipe my memory, I will regain it, I promise you. And when I have been returned my recollections of your kind, I will expose you to the world without rising to your defense when the humans attack." He smirked, tilting his head down. "Any harm from your peoples' hands to me or my bodyguard, Short, and there will be lethal consequences. You should know me well enough to understand that I will not hesitate to have every babe of your races slaughtered in order to quell my thirst for revenge."

"Fowl —"

"Do not try to cross me, Captain," he said sharply, disregarding her title once more. "I am always watching."

With a small, pitiful noise, the conference ended and Artemis's face disappeared, his final expression one of disgust at beholding her. Holly breathed out shakily, dropping her head into her hands, and she spoke to the empty room and the broken connection.

"You can't understand," she whispered. "You're only nineteen…"

* * *

"I need you to kill him."

Holly felt her eyebrows disappear under her bangs, the sheer shock value of the statement sending her reeling back a few inches. "Excuse me?"

Kelp sat ramrod straight behind his desk, acting more formal than he ever had around her. "Fowl," he said sternly. "I need him dead."

She breathed deeply, a blank slate, fighting control of her tongue. "With all due respect, Commander," she said in a monotone, "I refuse."

The Commander's eyebrow raised. "I beg your pardon, Major?"

"If I may have permission to speak freely, sir?"

He steepled his fingers looking up at her in a demeaning fashion that quite reminded her of the man she had been ordered to kill. "Granted," he admitted reluctantly.

She lifted her chin, forcing her shoulders square. "Fowl has flat-out told the LEP that should we take harmful action on him, he will decimate our security and cause massive destruction and casualties across the People. A monster he may have become, but I hold him to his word."

Kelp closed his eyes, gathering his words. "This man has started a nuclear worldwide war, Major," he said. "The entire tranquility of the surface is ripping apart because of him. He needs to be forced out of action before he can cause any more damage."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but the fairy People have always stood by the motto of what happens aboveground is not our concern."

"We can't stand by and let this man ruin everything —"

"Listen to me!" she shouted, slamming her hands down on the desk. "You heard the recording yourself. Even if I kill him, or you kill him, or someone else entirely kills him, he'll be ready for it. He could die a thousand times and each way have a way to release all information about us." She closed her eyes, speaking slowly and carefully. "I don't know how he does it, Commander. I never have and I never will. But he could do it."

"Major, it has been ten years since that conference —"

"Artemis is a man of his word," she said firmly, ignoring Kelp's flinch at the name. "He always has been. He won't expose us without motive."

"How do you know?" he snapped. "Humans are impulsive, angry creatures that are unpredictable. Even if we're prepared, once he made the decision we would be to late to stop him. So what can you offer me to convince me not to go for his throat?"

"Because part of him still cares, sir," she said, and walked out of his office without another word.

* * *

The world was in turmoil.

Holly sat next to her daughter, watching the feeds with wide eyes. The new head of the Fowl Empire looked just like his father, cold and calculating and just as capable of destruction.

"That's him, Mom?" her daughter asked as the feeds showed a picture of Artemis from a few years prior. It was not a flattering picture by any means; his cheekbones jutted out, only reinforcing the icy fury behind the blue eyes and the hatred in the downward turn of the mouth. "That's the man you were friends with?"

"I've told you a million times, he was different then."

"So why do you still defend him?"

Holly crossed her arms and legs, drawing in on herself, not once taking her eyes off the face on the screen. Unthinking, she reached up to stroke her daughters hair, a weight lifted from her chest knowing that the man who had plagued her nightmares was gone forever.

"I never could explain that even to myself, darling."

* * *

"If you're watching this, then I am dead."

Holly sat curled in her office chair, knees held to her chest and her eyes wide as she took in the impossible. She had forgotten what Artemis had looked like back when he was still a real person, yet there he was, standing right in front of her, looking so real that it was all she could do not to cower underneath her desk.

Artemis was sixteen again, dressed pristinely in a suit sans the jacket, his hands tucked almost casually into his pockets. His hair was not slicked back, as it had been for the remainder of his life, but swept easily across his forehead, shading his dichromatic eyes, which from then on would be covered by contacts at all times. Those sad, deep, red-rimmed eyes drilled into her from the hologram, and Holly could almost feel the emotion crashing over her like a wave.

"I destroyed you last week," he whispered, and she knew he was referring to the time all those years ago when he had cast her, bleeding and terrified, from his house. Stomach twisting, Holly leaned forward, trapped in the illusion.

"I destroyed you," he continued, "and I'm sorry. I assure you I was in a very dangerous place at that time and that my judgment was extremely impaired." He stepped forward, nearly touching the desk behind which she cowered.

"I'm a selfish human being, Holly," he breathed, and she could almost feel his breath tickle her skin. "This week has been worse than hell for me, and I find myself unwilling to go through anything like it again, no matter what I'm given in return." He closed his red-rimmed eyes, pausing. "I'm taking revenge," he said simply after a time. "I'm killing the man who killed my parents. It will be my last emotional-driven act. From here on out, I am no one, and I need no one." He opened his eyes and they were shining ever-so-slightly, boring right into hers as if he had planned the situation perfectly.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "Despite my exterior, I am a coward. I know this, and I accepted it years ago. But believe me when I say that it is better to feel nothing than to feel pain." His hand twitched up, as if he were reaching to touch her face. "I'm not a liar anymore," he whispered. "And after this I will never contact you as a friend in any way, shape, or form every again. Just let me give you something. One last truth, one last goodbye. By the time you see this, it will be too late for you to act anyway."

Artemis's hologram walked through the desk, and Holly squeaked, edging back in her chair as he came out the other side, kneeling before her, eyes burning with grief and fury and passion.

"I love you, Holly Short," he said, his voice cracking and a single, crystalline tear spilling over and falling down out of the hologram. "And that is why I have to let you go."


	16. The Very Surface

**So my copy of TAC has been missing for months and I've been accusing my brother of losing it — a fact which he adamantly denied until I walked into my bedroom this morning and saw TAC right under the edge of my bed. Turns out he'd had it sitting in an unused backpack for months and had tried to hide the fact that he had been wrong by stuffing it under my bed. I got a good laugh out of that.**

**In other news, the next chapter of Imperium is quite slow going. Between two consecutive musicals — we're in tech week for both, so please send don't-go-insane-Alchy thoughts my way — sucking at Pre-Cal (again), and the Boy, I have had zilch time to write. **

* * *

He lay sprawled on his bed, past the point of exhaustion but too fatigued to sleep. What had he done in the past hour or two? His last memory was of opening a new document, and now he could see fresh paper on the printer, covered in whatever he had written in his tired stupor.

When was the last time he had slept? Some 72 hours ago, it seemed. Artemis could almost feel the bags weighing his eyes down, forcing them deeper into his sockets with a sharp pain. It kept him awake, and all he could do was let his eyes glaze over against the harsh light of his chandelier, the thoughts in his mind dulling until there was just white noise playing in his head.

He was so out of the land of the living that he didn't hear his door open. Artemis was out of energy to even react when he felt hands at his hair, stroking the slightly greasy black strands away from the sallow skin of his face.

"You really do need to sleep more," Juliet muttered.

"Ungh," Artemis replied, unwilling to use the fumes of his energy to move his tongue.

"Look at that five o'clock shadow," she said, continuing to comb her fingers through his hair even though it was sufficiently out of his face. "Your mother would be so excited if she could see it. Her little boy, all grown up with the beginnings of a beard."

"I'm shaving in the morning," he said slowly, his brain slow to form words.

"It _is _the morning, Artemis." Juliet shook her head, looking critically at him. "You look like shit."

"Thank you for that lovely statement of encouragement."

"Hey, I'm not gonna lie, kid. You look like roadkill."

He winced. "That's a very nice image, Juliet."

"Why don't you sleep?"

Artemis closed his eyes, trying to shut her out, but it didn't work. His eyes were still as sticky and uncomfortable as before, the battle of dull noise raging in his head. "I can't," he said, settling for the simple explanation.

Juliet, as usual, would not have it. "Why?"

"Because I have things on my mind that you would not understand."

"Try me." She stretched out so that she was lying parallel to him, groaning in approval of his multi-thousand Euro mattress. "What's going on in that big brain of yours?"

Artemis glared at her, refusing to answer. She stared, infuriatingly amused, back at him, her arms crossed behind her head as if the bed was all hers. "I believe I said you would not understand. Or are you deaf?"

"Nope, not deaf," she said, wickedly cheerful for four in the morning after Artemis's three straight days of no sleep. "Just nosy, and rightfully so. What's up, Artemis?"

"Nothing," he snapped. "I just worry about the future, that's all."

Juliet was quiet; she obviously hadn't expected that answer, and it had caught her off guard. "The future?" she said after a moment of contemplation. "What in the future do you have to be scared of?"

"It's none of your business," Artemis said, and Juliet knew from his tone that he wasn't going to say anymore.

"All right." She sat up, looking him over. "You should sleep. No more work. Just rest."

He sighed, the gust echoing around the tall walls of his room. "No," he said, attempting to haul himself off of his bed and get back to work. "I have things I must get done."

Gentle hands pushed him down and he went almost without protest. After a moment of halfhearted struggle, Artemis felt nails scratching at his scalp, and he let out a low, involuntary moan from the back of his throat. His eyes automatically began to roll back in his head and his neck lost all strength, flopping his head into Juliet's lap. She laughed softly.

"You're not… playing… fair," Artemis managed to get out.

"This trick has worked on you since you were a kid," she said, smirking without malice. Slowly, the wrinkles settled in Artemis's forehead began to smooth out until he was halfway into dreamland, and she leaned forward so that her lips brushed the hair by his ear.

"Don't you dare worry about the future," she whispered. "It belongs to you, not the other way around."

Artemis went completely limp, still save for the gentle rising and falling of his chest. With a roll of the eyes, Juliet took his tie and shoes off, shutting off the lights and closing the curtains against the dark sky, which would brighten within a few hours. She stopped at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at the dark form sprawled across the bedspread.

_The kid's growing up too fast._

Juliet shook her head and shut the door behind her, yawning as she made her way off to find her brother for perhaps a bit of early-morning sparring.

Artemis could put off growing up for just a little while longer, couldn't he?

* * *

**I've often found myself taking experiences from my current events and writing about them in little snippets. But I really want to investigate the inside of Artemis's head sometimes.**


	17. Breaking

**Ru. PLEASE EDIT THE CHAPTER. In other news, I'm sleep-deprived and in class not working.**

They sat together quietly.

It was an odd sort of quiet. Generally, when they were together, the only time they weren't arguing or making fun of each other was when one of them was when they were hiding or when one of them was grievously injured. But there was no danger in the underground hospital room, and the only ailment was in the mind of one of them.

"Artemis."

He looked up, then looked down, and then looked away, his fingers rapping the sheets in fives.

Holly wouldn't be deterred, and scooted her chair closer. "We need to talk, okay?"

"Thank you for five words," he muttered, eyes shifting fleetingly around the room. "Five words are pleasant."

She sighed deeply, scratching at her scalp. "Um… yeah, it's no problem."

"'Um' is not a word!" he snapped.

"Focus!" Holly barked. "I need to talk to you about Orion… and about you." She paused. Then: "Right now, please."

He kneaded his temples, hands shaking. "I will do my best," he said. "You may begin the conversation."

"Well…" She looked at her fingernails, short and ragged and pink. "I need to know why Orion is so… ob_sessed _with me. It concerns me, Artemis. I thought I made myself clear back then." He flinched at the word count, and she hastily added, "Answer?"

Placated, Artemis looked off into space, thinking before her carefully formatted his words so not to displease either Holly or the number gods. "I have to wonder if my subconscious attraction to you has less to do with you yourself, but rather with what all you've done for me."

Holly raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that you like me for my usefulness, not me as a person."

Artemis splayed out all ten fingers – two fives, good – and waved them erratically. "No, no, no, no, no!" he cried. "Rather, that is the reason I noticed the fact that you are very attractive and that is why I began to memorize your habits and ways to connect with your personality –"

"That's just _creepy –"_

"I did not finish my sentence!" Artemis shrieked, glaring madly at her. "They will be displeased, Holly! They will avenge you for disrespecting their domain! Oh, no…"

"Artemis," Holly said firmly. "With all due respect and sincerity, and in all seriousness, you need to calm the fuck down. Right. Now."

Artemis stared, and then looked down, amending his word count with a simple "Okay."

"Now. You say you started noticing me because of what I had done for you."

He nodded slowly, five head bobs before he spoke. "You've saved my life so many times at the risk of your own. You brought me back my Butler. You returned my mother's mind, and pulled my father from the throes of death. You speak in fives for me. And you accepted my faults. It's made me _notice_ you, Holly. I don't usually _notice _people."

She shook her head. "You can't use that as a judgment of who I am, Artemis," she said. "What I have done for you is what any decent person would have done for anyone else… Artemis."

Artemis looked out the window, eyes glazing over the scene of bustling, glowing Haven, his dichromatic eyes reflecting the flecks of light emanating from the beauty of life, hidden away from the sprawling mess above. It was hypnotizing, the perfect picture of a near-Utopian future, one he could someday build and capture… if only in his dreams.

"Perhaps," he murmured, unable to take his eyes off the beauty before him to look at the beauty at his bedside. "But I love you because you are the only person on earth who would have done them for _me_."


	18. Better Than The Alternative

**I always thought that the first book — which, don't get me wrong, I adore — would have been far more badass if it had been darker. So here is my version of the aftermath of the Fowl Siege. Feel free to ask questions if I didn't make myself clear enough or if you want to know more of my thoughts on the matter (that's a super subtle hint to review).**

* * *

When Artemis opened his eyes, he half expected to be dead, and for a moment he thought he was.

Where he had last seen a kitchen ceiling, he could now see the sky, clear with bright Irish sunlight and dotted with a few tiny, puffy clouds. But after a moment of wondering if perhaps his plan had failed and the bio-bomb had killed them all, the pain hit, and the smell soon followed.

The pain of bruises and scratches, and the smell of burning.

Artemis forced himself to roll over with a long groan, and his hands landed in a puddle of watery ash. He froze, instantly making connections, instantly analyzing, his eyes flicking around the grayscale scene in a quick, halted panic. There were tiny splashes of familiar things; the dented kettle a few feet away, its red paint mostly stripped by heat; the scorched granite slab that had once made the kitchen island; the cast iron of a light fixture; sheetrock, wood, and everywhere tiny scraps of the long-gone shingles, the frames of Fowl Manor scattered around as far as he could see.

The LEP had used far more than a bio-bomb.

Butler and Juliet were nowhere to be seen, but Artemis did not call for them as he staggered to his feet, his mind blank for the first time in all twelve years of his life. The landscape around him was the stuff of nightmares, and he sloshed through the gray, ashy debris. A fire truck had been here, judging by the puddles of water, and moment later he confirmed the thought when he saw several skid marks on the stone of the driveway His hand brushed the fragile black skeleton of the once-beautiful grand staircase before flinching away, burned by the still-hot metal of the banister.

No Butler. No Juliet, no Angeline, no Captain Short or her trusty rescue force…

Artemis still called for no one.

He had seen countless movies and documentaries, gazed at thousands of photos and read stories recounting fires, telling stories of flames swallowing buildings and homes, of destroying everything a family had, but they had done nothing to prepare him for the real thing, for the absolute agony that shot through his body when he would step over something he recognized. When he had shot back the champagne, he had expected to either wake up on the old wood floors or never wake up at all. Anything but this.

Not a single wall of Fowl Manor remained standing.

"Artemis."

The boy turned slowly, as if moving in a dream or from a deep sleep. There was no cause to be alarmed at the address; he would have recognized Butler's voice anywhere. The manservant looked as sore and exhausted as he felt, blood still staining his shirt from his fight with the troll.

"What the hell did you do?"

In a monotone, Artemis explained the idea of how to escape the time stop, of his test with Angeline and the execution of his plan, but despite standing nearly up to his knees in a pile of wet ash, he made no mention of the fire that had consumed his home.

"What do you want to do?" Butler asked, not bothering to ask if Artemis understood how dead they could have been. How they could have materialized out the time stop in the middle of the blaze, or the explosion, or whatever it was. Artemis detested being asked if he understood things.

The boy looked around despondently, and then his attention was caught by a glimmer. Fowl Manor was nothing but a pile in a hole that had once been the basement, and in the very center, the great mound of gold was buried, a solid metric ton unharmed by fire. Artemis didn't answer his manservant, wading through the wreck until he could have reached out and touched the bullion, but this time he was wiser and more awake, and refrained. His fingers smarted where he had touched the banister.

"Artemis," Butler said; not a question, but a word to remind the silent child that he was there.

"I know," Artemis replied hoarsely, not really sure what he was telling Butler he knew.

There was a long pause in which they stared at the pile of muddy gold. "I put Juliet out on the lawn when I woke," Butler said after a while. "How do you feel?"

"Beaten," Artemis murmured, meaning it both ways. The memories of the big bloody hole recorded on the lower abdomen of his shirt and mirrored on the back were hazy, smeared by pain and magic. Juliet screaming for him to hold on, but his sweaty hand slipping away, and looking in horror at the steel protruding from his stomach, and Butler ripping the metal from him with more pain than he had ever felt in his life, and blue sparks surrounding his body and sending him into a glowing shock…

"Father would be ashamed of me," Artemis said softly. "Mother, insane and quite possibly dead. The Manor in shambles. The dregs of the empire a fiasco. But he would approve of the great pile of gold sitting patiently in the center of the mess I've created."

Butler didn't reach out to him, though Artemis desperately wished he would. "What you did last night was despicable," the bodyguard said without abandon, and Artemis supposed he deserved it. Butler could tell him whatever he wanted to now. "It was despicable," he continued, "but it was a less. A very expensive lesson. You lost a lot. I hope you'll keep this in mind in your future escapades." The bodyguard turned and began to walk away, leaving Artemis in the sea of wreckage. His final words had sounded like a dismissal — a goodbye. The genius turned wildly after a few seconds of Butler's watery footsteps, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

"Are you leaving me?" he cried, not sparing a speck of concern for how emotional or unprofessional or childish he sounded. Butler stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow.

"No, Artemis," Butler said. "I'm going to go see if my little sister is awake. And if she isn't, I'll wait until she is, and then we'll go to a hotel and we'll all take good, long showers and sleep."

He started to walk again, but stopped when Artemis said, sounding very small; "Butler. My mother. Do you think…?"

"I don't know, Artemis," he said without looking back, and then continued to wade out of the hole.

Artemis, flinging any last regards he may have had for his suit, sank to his knees in a puddle of grey water and then sat all the way down on a bent steel beam, which, thankfully, was warm and not hot. He felt scared touching it, which was a ridiculous notion, as it was too thick to be the beam that had gutted him through the stomach, and besides, it couldn't just rear up and impale him. The only reason he had been run through like that was because of the land mine the dwarf had set, blowing one of the LEP to bits by accident and crumbling most of the east wing, leaving Artemis in Juliet's hands on the third floor and slipping, and falling…

It was never supposed to end this way. He had been prepared to die because it was all for his father and his father was the head of the family and the head of the family always came first, but he had never thought the peace-loving fairies could be so cruel and leave him alive with only a pile of ashes and a pile of gold.

"Beautiful sky today, huh kid?"

Artemis didn't have to turn; like with Butler, he recognized his previous captive's voice.

"What are you still doing here, Captain Short?" he asked coolly, not caring how he looked, covered in dried blood and wet filth, curled in the sinkhole that was his house.

"Root wanted me to get back to Haven immediately," she said. "But I had to come back to make sure you were okay once we knew you lived. Not for you, but for the fact that you're a child and we blew up your house." When Artemis didn't say anything, she said, "It made the news."

"Whose?" Artemis inquired without interest. "Mine, or yours?"

"Both, but I meant yours."

"Fantastic," he murmured, his gaze fixed painfully on a warped, blackened antique copper globe that had once been the proud centerpiece of his father's office.

Short finally came into view, her wings folding up into a small metal backpack. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the damage.

"Shame we had to blow up the place," she said, her back to him. "It was beautiful. The Council ordered Foaly to send in an explosive with the bio-bomb so that your unnatural deaths wouldn't be investigated. You're too high profile for your own good. But I can't deny that the place was gorgeous, even after Mulch blew up part of it."

"This house was 600 years old," Artemis snapped, still unable to take his eyes off the door. Short still didn't turn to face him. "Think of the people you know that are that age, and think of how much history they have, how many stories they have to tell."

Short's ears drooped ever so slightly.

"Think of how much history you destroyed today," Artemis whispered, his voice cracking in a way that should have embarrassed him, but he was really too numb to think about it.

"We did what we had to do," Short said softly.

"You destroyed my home," Artemis accused, but without any real venom behind it. Where was his fight? His Fowl lust for vengeance?

Where was his mother?

"She's alive, you know," Short said, as if she had read his mind. "There are selenium flares blocking out my heat sensors, but I scanned for motion and found four heartbeats."

Artemis immediately sat up, heat rushing in to fill the spots that were quickly cooling into icy, dead patches. "Where?" he said, his tone almost angry. Short gestured off to the right, very quiet. Artemis stared in the direction she had pointed, hungrily seeking out the familiar, albeit tangled chestnut hair.

"She's a very sick woman," Short murmured after a moment.

"She lost her husband," Artemis replied, as nonchalantly as if he were talking about the whether in the middle of his soggy grey mess of a house. "She lost him and her only son quickly lost any touch of childhood left in him, choosing instead to attempt to fill his father's shoes. And when he failed, he changed in a way that only two stable parents could heal."

Short did not reply.

"Do you see now?" Artemis asked, almost begging for reasons he didn't know. Fowls did not beg. Ever. But he was, surrounded by broken memories and shadows, pleading to his would-be prisoner. "Do you see, Captain, why I had to do this? I _have_ to get him back."

"Are you apologizing?" Short asked sharply.

"No," Artemis said. "And I never will. I am a scientist. I do not apologize; I offer explanation."

Short scoffed and shook her head, her short auburn hair ruffling in the breeze that stirred the ashes. She still hadn't turned his way.

"Captain," Artemis said. She didn't react, but he knew she was listening. "What would I have to do to buy a wish?"

She didn't move for a moment, but then turned to him, squinting. "What do you have to bargain with?" she asked, scrutinizing him. Together, as if they had planned it, they turned their head to look at the massive pile of gold, the only visible brightness in the surrounding gloom.

"One half," Artemis said. "You heal my mother of her mental illness and I swear I will return half of your ransom."

"Swear on what, Fowl?" Short questioned, leaning sassily back on one leg.

"On my father's life," he said, and she lost any look of doubt on her face immediately. She would never trust him, but she knew that at that moment, he was being completely honest.

"I'll see what I can do," she said slowly. "After healing you, Butler, and myself, I'm strained, but I've got something left." She turned away, making to walk for the area she had claimed his mother was alive in, and paging Foaly for transport.

"Why did you heal me?" Artemis asked quietly, abruptly. "I kidnapped you. Destroyed your reputation. Stole your gold and humiliated you in front of your people. Why… why did you heal me?"

Short froze and then turned, looking back at him, the deep bags under her eyes looking almost like a part of the proud manor that she had watched burn into the ground not a day before. "Because when I saw you lying there," she said after a moment, "you were nothing but a little boy dying a horrible death, and Juliet was nothing more than a little girl crying for her baby brother, and Butler was nothing but a father hopelessly trying to save the life of his son."

Artemis said nothing.

"I dare you to be better," Short said formally, and then turned her back for the final time. Artemis knew he wasn't wanted, and so set to the arduous task of clambering out of the hole, his legs sinking deep into the remains of the mansion the longer that the water was able to work away at the Fowl family's possessions and the cinders quickly cooling in the freezing December air. Once he reached ground, he found Butler crouched by Juliet, who was wrapped in a blanket from the one car that hadn't been in the garage, resting her wet head on his thigh.

"Are you ready?" Butler asked, gentler than he had been. Perhaps Juliet had talked him into feeling sympathy for his charge, or perhaps he genuinely felt sorry. Either way, Artemis knew that even if he had wanted pity, he didn't deserve it.

"Not quite," he said briskly. "The Captain is finishing a transaction of ours and then we can be on our way. Call our German contact to come and collect the gold."

Butler, obviously alarmed at the fact that the elf was still on the premises, did as his charge commanded, flipping out his cell phone immediately. Artemis sunk to the ground next to Juliet, exhausted.

"You gave me a little too much tranq," she said, but there was no anger in her voice. "I don't have as much muscle as you think I do. Not as strong as you think."

"You're a Butler," Artemis said dumbly, too tired to think about what was coming out of his mouth.

"I'm the worst Butler ever," she whispered. "I dropped you three stories onto a steel rod that stuck you through the stomach. You should have died."

"But I didn't."

She laughed somewhat hysterically, bringing Artemis's attention to the fact that somewhere along the road, in the blur of the struggle, she had traded her tattered shirt for only her grimy sports bra, and that her torso was riddled with cuts and bruises.

"You ruined your jeans," he offered. She looked down, only slightly stricken by the fact.

"Yeah, I did," she said, throwing an arm around him. "But you lost everything, so I can't really complain."

Artemis didn't refute the fact, leaning into her shoulder like a little boy would have, closing his eyes on the awfulness that refused to leave his sight even behind closed eyelids. He was forced to open them again at Juliet's gasp, and what he saw made his head swim with relief and fear and a strange burst of sadness.

His mother climbed out of the pit of Fowl Manor, ghostly and filthy and shaking like a leaf, but with more sharpness in her wandering gaze than Artemis had seen in over a year. Angeline immediately locked eyes with her son, not asking for an explanation or saying a word. She just held her arms open wide, and Artemis leapt up from the ground with renewed energy, thrusting himself into his mother's embrace.

Artemis had no doubt that they were both crying, but to anyone who asked he coolly answered that they had been his mother's tears on his face.

Only Butler, ever the faithful bodyguard, saw the shimmer rising from the crater in the shape of a fairy and a loaded hovercraft. He nodded, professionally but respectfully, and he could have sworn that, at just the right angle, the December sun shining through the flicker made it look like the Captain was waving.

* * *

"I can't believe you," Foaly said, crunching on a carrot as Holly sluggishly walked into the Tara shuttleport, unzipping the top layer of her suit with a sigh. "First you get kidnapped, then you protest my beautiful bio-bomb, then you turn out to be right, and then you decide you want to go back and make sure the nice Mud Men who kidnapped you in the first place are okay. And you have the audacity to make me wait here and send you a _transport _hovercraft, of all things — hey, why did you just send two of my techies out?"

"Because ofthat," Holly said, poking her thumb over her shoulder as the two fairies guided the gold-loaded craft in. "I got tired of steering."

Later, she would regret not having a camera on, because Foaly's bugged eyes and open mouth littered with carrot bits were absolutely priceless, but she was too beat to really care. She collapsed into an uncomfortable plastic seat while his stuttering calmed down and waited for their transport to arrive.

"I'll keep a close eye on him," Foaly said. "But I think we can expect to never see Artemis Fowl again."

Holly didn't smile. She didn't bother to make any sort of facial expression. She knew she was going to get yelled at regardless of her face. "I feel sorry for him, Foals," she said softly.

Foaly's look rivaled the one he had had on his face when the gold had come in. "Excuse me?"

"He did a terrible thing," she said, "but he's just a kid got the short end of the stick and thought he was ready to be an adult. His dad's probably dead, which he's in denial about. His mom was crazy until I fixed her. His family crime business fell apart at the seams and he was left with no money and no guidance save for the bodyguard who has to trust everything he chooses."

Foaly spent a moment trying to figure out which issue to attack first before deciding. "Hold on, did you say you _fixed _his mom? Do you know how much red tape you just burned at the stake?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "What, you think I just strolled out of there with half the gold for nothing? No, the kid's a businessman to the core."

Foaly scoffed. "Frond, Holly. You're something else, you know that?"

Holly was silent for a bit, watching the techs attempt to spar and wondering where the boy with no home was going to sleep tonight. "It's just that I know what it's like to lose your parents young," she said quietly. "Maybe not _that _young, but young enough to know how hard it was to get into the real world without anyone to guide you along the way. And _I _had friends." She let out a little laugh. "I highly doubt Fowl's popular at school."

Foaly didn't answer, and when the shuttle came he offered her his hand. She took it, leaning into his two-day old uniform and the warmth of his back.

"Let's get you home, crazy girly Captain," Foaly said fondly, squeezing her hand. "You've had the mother of all long days. If it were me, I'd wait a week for Root to cool down about the subject and then get asked to be paid overtime for all this."

Holly gave an obligatory laugh, but even as she strapped in, she couldn't rid herself of the stench of a burned home — not just a house, a _home _— and the haunted look in the brilliant blue eyes of the boy who was quietly forced into adulthood long before his time. With a shudder, she pulled her knees to her chest against flight regulations and buried herself into the faux leather of the LEP shuttle. Exhausted she might have been, but she foresaw some sleepless nights back in Haven.

Somehow, she knew she'd be seeing Artemis Fowl again, whether she liked it or not.


	19. His

**We so often explore the relationship between Artemis the Second and his Butler. But there is so little to be seen of what is between Artemis the First and his Major.**

**The next chapter of Imperium is being steamed through. I just worked through a bad plot snarl and a hell of a lot of writer's block, so the show's back on the road. Thanks for your patience.**

* * *

His

* * *

Byron Fowl's furious face was covered in red.

Artemis stared from behind Major's arm, trying to make sense of why his father was covered in blood if he wasn't hurt. He was a bright child, but by no means a genius, and he refused accept the idea that his father had killed a man.

Earl Butler — having earned his title for briefly serving the Queen of England before Byron's birth — tossed Byron a handkerchief, never once taking his eye off the scope of his rifle. How he had managed to fit such a huge gun under his jacket, Artemis had no idea. Byron wiped his face as clean as he could get it before tucking the handkerchief into his mangled suit jacket.

Artemis hadn't seen his mother since the bomb had gone off.

Artemis felt Major's fingers at his forehead, easing something hot off his skin, and when he took his hand away Artemis felt sick at the red coating his bodyguard's fingers.

"Is that mine?" he whispered.

"Quiet, Artemis," his father hissed, and as always, Artemis obeyed. Major nodded slowly and, glancing warily at Earl, slipped a small first-aid kit from the jacket of his suit.

"We don't have time for that," Earl snarled. "Put it away."

Major ignored his father, quickly cleaning something on Artemis's forehead. Artemis felt tears gather in his eyes at the sting, and he squeaked in pain. Major's jaw clenched at the sound, and he quickly pulled a needle and thread from the kit.

"Major!" Earl glared into his scope. "As soon as they're dead, we're running. Put the god damn first aid kit away."

"If you could bother to look for an instant, Father, you could see that he's bleeding rather severely" Major snapped, and Earl faltered. Still, Major waited for his permission before he began to stitch up Artemis's forehead. The boy mewed in pain.

"I'm sorry," Major whispered. "I don't have any anesthetic with me, but you _have _to be quiet, Artemis."

The boy bit his tongue hard. For a second, Byron Fowl actually looked concerned for his son, but he quickly returned his attention to his gun.

"Daddy?" Artemis whispered, his voice high and laced with tears. "Where's Mommy?"

"For God's sake, Major, shut him up," Byron snarled, his eyes narrowing as he locked on a target and shot. Artemis screamed and slapped his hands over his ears. Major winced as his father swore, letting loose on his sniper rifle, and hurriedly finished up the stitching job. It wasn't perfect, but it would stem the flow for a while. If Byron didn't want his son to have a pretty scar across his entire forehead for the rest of his life, he was going to have to cough up quite a pretty penny for treatment. Assuming they made it out alive.

"I want my Mom," Artemis whispered to his bodyguard, his voice piercing in the sudden quiet as both Byron and Earl looked for new targets. Earl twitched at the sound.

"I believe you were ordered to shut up him," Earl hissed at his son. "Take care of it and get your gun out, boy."

Major tried not to look at Artemis's — _his_ Artemis's, _his_ baby's — eyes, wide with betrayal, as he pushed gently on his tiny little neck and watched him slump to the ground, unconscious. Slipping his Sig Saur from his jacket, he hitched his aim over the barricade and together, he, his father, and their master took out the remaining hit men in two minutes.

None of them acknowledged the splattered remains of Mrs. Fowl across the lobby floor of the deserted Fowl Industries.

* * *

"Does my father really intend on marrying her?"

Major raised an eyebrow to his young master's back. Artemis was stoically looking out the heavily curtained window of his study, his hands clasped behind his back. The picture of calm, but the bodyguard knew the boy well enough to acknowledge the turmoil beneath the facade.

"I do not know, sir."

Artemis did not move. "Of course he does," he said, somewhat bitter. "An icon needs a wife."

Major bit his tongue to keep from sighing. "Sir —"

"Oh, don't _sir_ me, Major. We're far past that stage, aren't we?"

Major did not answer.

Artemis scoffed, tossing back his hair and continuing to stare off into the distance. "My mother is still a part of this family, even though she's been dead for years. I don't understand why the _hell_ he finds it in his right to marry someone a mere six years my senior."

Silently, Major agreed. Artemis's soon-to-be stepmother was only two years into adulthood and looked barely older than the Fowl heir himself.

"Maia's very pretty, sir."

Artemis scoffed again, fuming and refusing to look his bodyguard's way. "She's a gold digger, that's what she is."

"Turn away from the window, sir," Major sighed. "Please."

Artemis held his ground for a second before sighing deeply, deflating and turning to meet his study. His eyes were almost violently red.

"I don't _want _him to marry that bitch," he said moodily, stuffing is hand in his pockets.

Major had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting.

Artemis sighed and flopped down in his desk chair, the perfect picture of a despondent teenager. "I'm supposed to take over the empire after him," he said softly. "But what if I don't want to?"

"With all due respect sir, you always have wanted to."

"I guess," Artemis said. "But I don't want to be like _him_."

"Then don't be," Major said, and firmly shut his trap before he said something that would surely get him fired.

Artemis ignored it. "Can't Earl knock some sense into him?"

Despite his conviction not to speak, Major's lips twitched. "That would be ill-advised. It's not quite in his job description to abuse his principle."

Artemis snorted, but Major couldn't tell if it was from amusement or disgust. "I hate being a Fowl," he griped, leaning back in his expensive chair with a deep frown. "'Gold is power.' 'Honor the family.' How is he honoring the family if he's marrying her? How is he honoring Mom?"

Major hesitated, and then broke, knowing his young master well enough to break his stoicism for a moment of help. He approached from his position at the wall, sitting gingerly on the desk.

"Your father's just trying to survive, sir," he said gently. "Just like we all are. My guess is he's lonely."

"But he has _me_," Artemis whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. "If he would just look, he'd see. I'm right _here._"

Major's heart broke a little bit as the first tear streaked quickly down the boy's — _his _boy, _his _Artemis — cheek, so fast that it was if the thing was embarrassed to be seen. It was immediately followed by another, and another, and soon Artemis was curled in his bodyguard's lap, sobbing so hard that Major thought the world would shatter in his hands.

* * *

Artemis would not move.

"Sir, come on. Please get out of bed."

But he was a rock, a cold stone buried into the earth of his sheets.

Major sighed, rubbing the grief-prompted bags under his eyes, and gave in. "Okay, Artemis," he said. "I'm going to make breakfast, and then I'm going to bring it up here, and you can eat it or you can leave it on the plate. But you have to move on with your life sometime."

There was no response for the stubborn boy tangled under his comforter, and Major left.

He allowed himself to sit down on the floor in the kitchen, leaning on the counter once he knew he was alone. He slipped a worn photograph, only a few months old but already creased from usage, from the pocket inside his suit jacket.

Earl had Major under one arm and Major's sister Kalina in the other. Little Domovoi, already so serious and strong, was beside his mother, and Kalina was obviously pregnant again in the picture. It had been a rare moment of brevity. Earl had shown affection, and even allowed himself a smile. But it didn't matter, because he would never smile again.

Body-guarding was a terribly dangerous profession.

Major was surprised to see Artemis's head peek over the kitchen island. For someone who had spent nearly the entirety of the past week in bed, the young man had very dark circles under his eyes.

"I thought you were making breakfast," he mumbled.

Major was on his feet immediately, turning to the cabinets to get breakfast on the road. "I apologize, sir," he said cordially. "I was feeling a bit sentimental."

Behind him, Artemis scowled bitterly. "Aren't bodyguards supposed to have no feelings?"

Major fought the momentary, fleeting urge to smack the boy. His boy. Artemis all his now. Immediately, he was ashamed of himself.

Artemis put his head down on the counter with a loud sigh. Major made breakfast. For a while, it was silent.

"I didn't mean for your father to die," Artemis said after a long time, and Major felt every muscle in his body stiffen. "Or my father, for that matter."

Major left the cooking bacon were it was, bubbling on the stove, and turned to face his sixteen-year-old charge. "Would you like to clarify?" he asked, his voice shaking despite the calm he tried to force into it.

Artemis raised his head, staring mournfully up at his bodyguard. "That bitch was the only one who was supposed to be killed," he moaned. "I should have chosen my man better. I didn't know my father's enemies as well as I thought I did."

Major stared at him, fighting some alien feeling rising up in his body.

"I heard them one night," Artemis continued. "My father and... _her_. She was barely older than me, and he was _fucking_ her." He spat the word, disgusted.

"So that's when you decided to _kill her_, Artemis?" Major snapped, gripping the spatula so tightly that he could feel it bending in his grip.

"Yes," Artemis whispered. "She was supposed to die and my father was supposed to come to _me_ to make him happy, not some new young woman into him for his money."

"And what about my father?" Major asked through gritted teeth. "What about him?"

"That was never supposed to happen," Artemis said, his voice exhausted. "But they were a team, our fathers. They had to go down together."

Major saw red, and before he knew it, his hand was moving of its own accord. The sound that followed the slap echoed nastily through the kitchen. Artemis stared at his bodyguard, silent.

Behind him, the bacon caught fire.

Artemis did not cry even as the bruise began to form on his cheek.

* * *

"I think I want to marry her."

Major looked over at his charge — _his _charge, his man — and raised an eyebrow at the memories that statement brought up. The bruise had long healed on Artemis's face, but the faintest shadow remained on his bodyguard's heart.

"Angeline?"

Artemis nodded slowly, a handsome, striking, brooding man, his fingers tracing his lips, his Oxfords propped up on the desk.

"Well then, sir, propose."

The head of the Fowl empire sighed. "But I don't _know_ if I want to marry her. Is she just like my father's woman?"

Twenty-three years old and he still refused to call her by her name. Major fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Do you _love _her?"

"Of course I do," Artemis said. "But did my father think he loved his woman?"

"Maia is very different than Angeline."

Artemis shrugged and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"It's your choice, sir."

The man brooded for a moment more before sweeping his feet off the desk, standing smartly and brushing the slight wrinkles from his vest. "Make a hair appointment for me with Margot for two o'clock this afternoon," he said breezily, grabbing his coat and making to leave his office. "I don't want to look like a slovenly man when I propose."

With his master's back turned, Major allowed himself to roll his eyes.

"And don't think I don't know you just rolled your eyes at me!" Artemis called from the hallway beyond. "Come now, Major! We had ring shopping to attend to!"

Shaking his head, the bodyguard followed his charge from the study.

* * *

"Artemis Fowl Senior," he murmured, staring up at the stone arches of the ceiling. "It's strange. I prefer Artemis Fowl the First."

"It fits you well, sir."

The crime lord let his head loll over the couch cushions, indulging in a rare moment of brevity. "Major, I have a _son_."

"That you do, sir."

"What the hell am I going to do with a _baby_?"

The bodyguard was past the age when he had realized that chuckling at his master's — _his _— was unprofessional, and refrained. "Nurture him, of course. Angeline will help you. And Butler, of course."

"You really couldn't think of a better name for him than just 'Butler?' You're Major, and your father was Earl. What was your great uncle — Regent?"

"He preferred the family name."

"How old would your niece be now — four or so?"

Major grimaced; Kalina had lost the second baby, a boy, just hours after birth. Domovoi had been crushed, but Juliet had absolutely overwhelmed his heart when she had been born.

"Yes sir. Four."

"I hope she's like a big sister to my son — good _God,_ I'm a father."

"Yes, sir."

Artemis sighed, running his fingers over the soft leather of the couch. "I just hope I do a better job than mine. It's a tricky business."

"I would imagine so."

Artemis closed his eyes, carding a hand through his recently mussed hair. "How am I supposed to be a crime lord and a businessman and a husband and a father all at the same time? It's ridiculous, Major. I kill people in my daily work."

"I know."

"Am I like my father?" he asked. "Am I just building up this horrible empire for Arty to be forced into taking over?"

Major smiled ever-so-slightly at the little nickname. Artemis picked up on in easily, his brilliant blue eyes flashing open. He smirked.

"You like it. The nickname."

"Perhaps, sir. I am indifferent."

"You think it's cute. Oh, Major, I'm so excited. And scared. God, I have a _baby_."

The bodyguard sighed, patting his master's shoulder. "Yes, sir. So you've said at least fifty times in the last half-hour."

Artemis swallowed audibly. "I asked Angeline to name him after me because I want him to be a better Artemis Fowl than I was, you know."

Major was silent.

"Sorry," Artemis said. "I didn't mean to go there. Now isn't the best time for such remarks, I guess."

"You are a good Artemis Fowl, sir," Major said softly, sitting next to his charge. "The best I have ever known."

"Major," Artemis said, almost reprimanding. "You are too good to me."

"Not too good, sir. Only as good as you deserve."

Artemis sighed, and put his head on his bodyguard's lap.

When Butler came down with the whimpering infant in his arms in the wee hours of the morning, he smiled as much as a Butler was allowed to and pretended not to see.

* * *

"One last time, my Major," Artemis said, looking up at the maiden Fowl Star. "One more venture and we'll be legitimate and clean. No more enemies. Well, except for the old ones. But one can't have everything. It'll give your heart a rest, at least."

"You didn't kiss little Artemis goodbye when you left, sir," Major said, staring warily at the ship. "He was disappointed."

For a moment, Artemis looked a mite disturbed, but he quickly shook it off and replaced it with his businessman mask. "He's ten years old," he said breezily. "He's grown out of kisses goodbye."

"Sir, you never grow out of them, even when you and your father are bodyguards. No matter how old you are, you still want your parents' love." He took a leap of faith. "Your father never gave you affection, and look how that relationship turned out."

Artemis swallowed, and then nodded slowly.

"I'll give him a big hug and a kiss when we get home, old friend. How about that?"

Major nodded, watching the bulks of Cola load into the belly of the Fowl Star.

* * *

It didn't even register as an explosion until he woke up a moment later with Major scooping him up off the floor.

Artemis Fowl Senior gasped, momentarily clutching his bodyguard's lapel. Throughout the thin, dimly lit hallway, men were running, screaming their orders and fear. The lights were flickering ominously.

"What the _hell _just happened?" Artemis ordered. Major gripped him tightly, running the same direction as everyone else, smashing people out of his way with his elbows.

"A rocket hit the stern from shore," he rumbled. "The _Fowl Star_ is already sinking."

"Dear God," Artemis breathed, and then pushed his bodyguard's barrel chest. "Let me down."

"With all due respect, sir, I can get us to the lifeboats faster carrying you than with you running behind me."

Artemis clamped his mouth shut, letting Major run for him.

The hallways were terrible, full of men screaming and men covered in blood as they fought to escape the fire-ridden stern of the Fowl Star. Artemis winced as he began to hear the crashing of thousands of gallons of water crashing in behind them, consuming the ship and its cargo.

"Won't they just shoot us in the lifeboat, Major?" he asked, trying not to think about all the dead men that would be floating in the sea. About the men who would never speak again. Who would never touch their wives again.

"Probably," Major said. "But they'll have to get through me to get to you."

Artemis opened and closed his mouth, speechless for a moment as Major weaved through the panicked crew. "There has to be another way," he argued.

"Mr. Fowl, we either die trying or we sink with this ship," Major grunted. "And, frankly, I don't give a shit what you want. I'm getting you out of here."

Artemis didn't even get a chance to blink in surprise before a huge shudder wracked the ship, and the hallway behind them exploded.

When he came to, he was on the ground, and the thin metal passage smelled of burning and blood, and the sound of groaning filled the air.

"Mr. Fowl," he heard from somewhere to his right. "Run. Go."

His neck aching, Artemis hauled his head up and felt a deep, horrific chill run through his body.

Major was on the ground beside him, but unlike Artemis, he would not be getting up any time soon. All around him, men were stumbling to their feet and making for the exit, but seeing as Major's legs were no longer attached to his knees, he would not be following them.

Artemis fought the urge to vomit, crawling to his bodyguard, his hands smearing in the blood that was quickly beginning to coat the hot metal floor. The criminal piece of metal that had severed Major's legs lay like a dam, building up a little pool in the slated hallway and hiding the calves and feet of the once-great fighter.

"Mr. Fowl," Major said through gritted teeth. "I am not longer fit to guard you. Get to the lifeboat. I'm sorry; I can't shield you. But you have to try."

"Major —"

"Not to you," Major grunted, gripping Artemis's hand so hard that the crime lord thought that his bones would break. "No — sir, to you, I'm Bronislav."

"No," Artemis said firmly, gripping his bodyguard's hand right back. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Go," Bronislav grunted, trying to keep the pain shooting up the remainder of his legs from invading his face. "Get out of here, sir. You have a wife and son waiting for you at home."

"You're my _soulmate_," Artemis hissed. "You've been by my side since I was _born_. I can't leave you."

Bronislav's hard face softened for a moment before he clenched his teeth and let out a reluctant, guttural sound of pain. "I'm going to die of blood loss before this ship sinks," he said. "You've got a chance. Please, sir, for your son —"

Artemis gripped his collar, dragging his bodyguard's head off the ground and pressing their foreheads together, their noses clanking almost uncomfortably. "I can't imagine my life without you," he breathed."I _need _you, Bronislav. I need you more than _anyone _—"

"You love your wife," he said roughly. "And you love your son. Make sure you get home to them, Artemis."

Bronislav gasped when Artemis buried his face into the crook of his bodyguard's neck, breathing in the smell of blood and gunpowder and sweat.

"I'll never forget you," Artemis whispered. "You are my best friend, and I love you more than life."

"Take care of yourself," Bronislav whispered. "Beat some sense into my nephew. Raise your son right."

"Remember me in heaven," Artemis breathed, and then he was on his feet and running up the sharply tilting, smoldering hallway, looking back until he was forced to break eye contact by a corner.

Bronislav closed his eyes once Artemis was out of view, and felt his body begin to slid down the hallway, lubricated by his own blood, as the sound of rushing water filled the space. As his eyes cracked, he saw the far end of the hall beginning to flood. He closed his eyes again, waiting for death to come, and sending one last prayer to God that his little boy, his best friend, his soulmate — his everything — made it home to kiss his wife and child hello.

Bronislav Butler fell and splashed into the water rather painfully. He opened his eyes to floating debris and snaking blood and stinging salt, watching the hallway explode into fireballs through the filter of ocean.

Then everything became dark as the lights went out, and then the metal began to hit the water as the boat began to strip apart like a melted candle, and the last thought Bronislav had before he was killed from a blow to the head was of his Artemis — _his_.

* * *

Artemis had to grab the deck railings of the quickly sinking, smoky Fowl Star, to keep from tumbling into the frozen water below. Choking on the heavy, toxic smoke, he fought to pull himself toward the lifeboats.

His Major was gone.

Gritting his teeth, Artemis heaved himself up the deck, slipping on anonymous blood and melting paint, squinting to try and see the lifeboats through the gloom. There was nobody nearby. No survivors.

He was alone.

Angeline was at home with his little clone, his little Arty, ten years old and already so brilliant. Sitting perhaps in the parlor, getting served tea by Major's little nephew, oblivious to the fact that he was about to die.

And he knew it, then and there. Unable to scale the nearly vertical ship any farther, Artemis clung to a rail that was slowly peeling its way away from the deck, and knew that he was going to die.

He only hoped it was quick.

He looked up the sky, hoping to see at least a single star through the smoke ad the cloud of his own breath, but there was nothing.

"Bronislav, my friend," he whispered to the heavens. "I'm coming for you."

And Artemis Fowl the First let go of the rail.

He was not lucky. He fell straight down, his right leg smashing against the wheelhouse and sending horrible shocks through his body until he hit the water with a painful smack and ceased to feel anything but cold pain.

He cried in his final minutes, floating in the debris-ridden Bay of Kola. He cried for his wife and his son, and he cried for his Major and for his Major's niece and nephew, and he cried for himself. And then it was too cold to cry, and then it was too cold to feel, and then he was nowhere.

But despite sinking deep into nothingness and despite the firm belief that he was a dead man, Artemis Fowl the First did not go to Heaven that night, and he did not see his Major.


	20. The End of an Era

**Please forgive this shameless piece of real life making its way into this collection. It's just... absolutely impossible to think that this is the end.**

* * *

The End of an Era

Artemis knew something was very wrong when Juliet entered his bedroom sobbing.

Generally, his door was more secure than the tightest bank in Europe, but the resident head of security could override any surveillance or defense in the Manor within a second. Rudely interrupted by a sudden burst of obnoxious crying, Artemis immediately hid what he was doing and turned from his computers just in time to see a very panicked Butler shove Juliet into the room.

"I don't know what to do with her," he called over his little sister's wails. "You're closer to her age. Think of something."

The door slammed, the tumblers sliding back into place with a firm finality and effectively sealing Juliet into a room with a completely unprepared man.

Artemis may have been emotionally lacking, but he was still a nineteen-year-old young man caught completely off guard by a pretty, crying woman. He sat motionless in his desk chair like the proverbial dear in the headlights, completely at a loss for what to do as Juliet dramatically flung herself onto his bed, sobbing into his pillows.

"I'm going to _die_," she managed to bawl, her mascara and green eyeshadow running in messy streaks down her face. She then buried her head into Artemis's white pillows, thoroughly ruining them. He sighed, and shakily got up to join her on the bed.

Artemis sat awkwardly beside the sobbing woman, gingerly stroking her hair. "Do they have a diagnosis?" he asked, trying and failing to be gentle and understanding. "I could run my own tests to ensure that —"

"_God_, Artemis, you're so _stupid_," Juliet wailed, rising from the pillows and glaring tearily at him. Affronted, Artemis pursed his lips. Juliet was one of two people in the world, and the only one generally aboveground, who could get away with calling him stupid and live to tell the tale.

"I don't have a _disease_," Juliet said, and rolled over onto her back, sprawling out over the top of his bed. "I just feel like the majority of my _soul_ has been forcibly and violently ripped out of my body by a pair of dull tweezers."

Artemis managed not to wince. Juliet used his moment of disgust to throw her arms around his shoulders and drag him down into the most awkward hug of his life. The teen fought to remember Juliet's questionable sexuality and his own love interest as his face was smashed against her sizable breasts.

"Where'd all the love go, Arty?" she sighed, sniffling. "All the love in the world is just... gone."

"Recent breakup?" Artemis squeaked.

"Of sorts," she said, and then burst into a fresh batch of tears. "I can't live without him, Artemis."

Artemis managed to worm himself out of the embrace, staring blankly at his surrogate sister. "Wait... _him_?"

Juliet glared at him with a look of intense loathing, her smeared eyeliner only reinforcing the sudden hatred, and flung herself back into his pillows with fresh sobs. "I've lost my entire childhood," she cried, her voice muffled by the ruined pillows.

"Juliet... you're twenty-six," Artemis said uncomfortably. "You lost your childhood eight years ago. And please explain the sudden change of pronoun when it comes to your relationship status."

One moment she was crumpled into the pillows and the next she was smacking him across the back of the head. Artemis's hands flew to his mussed hair and he glared at the woman on his bed.

"Does your brother approve of you abusing his principle?"

"I don't _care_ what Dom thinks," she said, attempting to wipe the smeared makeup off her face. "He's completely unsympathetic, the old fart."

"Well, Juliet," Artemis said, completely uncomfortable with the situation, "He knows just as well as me that any boy who won't take you is simply undeserving. He's got to be picky when it comes to who he'll approve of for you."

She stared blankly at him.

Artemis swallowed. Despite his genius, he had no idea why Juliet's eyes were so wide and reproachful. "Besides, I thought you weren't exactly attracted to boys."

"You," she said slowly, "are completely daft."

Artemis blinked. Twice in the span of as many minutes, Juliet had insulted his intelligence. He was willing to let a little bit of friendly jabbing slide, but this was pushing it.

"I wasn't _dating_ him, Artemis," she said, and snorted. "He's not even real. None of them are."

Now seriously questioning Juliet's sanity, Artemis started to edge away. "Maybe your brother really _is_ better to handle this situation," he began, but she latched onto him firmly.

"It's over, Artemis," she said, her lower lips quivering, and the waterworks started again as she buried her face into his shoulder and started to cry in earnest again. "It's so completely lame, but I really feel like I've lost something."

Artemis, still at a loss, threw his available hand into the air in a gesture of exasperation and tossed his gaze around the bedroom. His eyes locked on a calendar, and he glanced down at the woman in his arms.

"Oh," he breathed. "_Oh_..."

"I dressed up as Hermione for Halloween for seven years in a row," Juliet sniveled. Artemis nodded slowly.

"Though, noting your age, those costumes got steadily more skimpy, if I remember correctly," he said.

She managed a shaky laugh and wiped her nose on her hand. Artemis edged away from it, and she giggled and wiped the mess onto her tank top.

"It was just so instrumental in my life," she sighed. "It carried me from my teens into adulthood and let me keep being a child in a little corner of my heart."

"With all due respect," Artemis said, "I do believe you'll always be a little bit of a child."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, sniffling, and he pursed his lips, accepting the little bit of snot on her shirt.

"And anyway," he said. "If you're so inclined to watch those movies — I can't possibly understand why, but your choice, I suppose — we _do _have a top-of-the-line entertainment center in the lounge. And every single book is in the library. Waste of space, if you ask me. But they'll be there as long as you want them."

Juliet sighed. Artemis sighed.

"Have you hugged me enough to be over this?" he asked, irate. She rolled her eyes and smoothly rolled off his bed.

"You're lame," she said. "I'll be downstairs having a pity party with your little brothers. And just for the record, even _Myles_ teared up at the scene where Snape —"

"Spoilers," Artemis said, waving her away and returning to his desk.

"Oh, like you don't know what happens." She huffed and pressed the button to unlock his door from the inside. "I'll bet you're a closet fan. See you, loser."

Artemis waited until the tumblers slid back into place in his door before pressing Butler's number on his speed dial.

"Did you fix her?" his bodyguard asked urgently.

"She's on her way down," Artemis said. "Try to be sympathetic. I don't want to have to do that again."

"I owe you," Butler replied.

Artemis raised an eyebrow, observing the makeup stains on his pillowcases and shirt. "Yes," he said. "You most certainly do."

He hung up and returned to his computer with a flourish, eyeing his door to make sure it was firmly locked before pulling up the window he had quickly minimized when his privacy had been thoroughly violated. The illegally downloaded film sat still right where he had paused it.

"Closet fan," he said to himself, and snorted, pressing play. Immediately, the action resumed, and Severus Snape lay before him, struggling for breath. "Spoilers, spoilers..."

* * *

Holly entered the Ops Booth with her usual flair, relishing in the feel of her new LEP-issue combat boots, and dropped the lunch for two down on a desk near the door.

"Hey there, stranger," she called. "Been a while. I went down to that new cafe on Elm Street — _what in the gods' names are you watching?_"

Foaly ducked out from behind a computer, sniveling. "N-nothing," he gulped, his eyes red and watery and his lower lip quivering. "Just... um, you know. Streaming a movie that Fowl's watching..."

She crossed her arms. "Please tell me it's not that idiotic Mud Man series you were so excited about."

"Oh, shut your face," the centaur replied, pouting. "Bring me my carrot soup and come watch with me." He sniffed loudly, hitching the snot back up his nose. "'You have your mother's eyes...' Ugh!"

Holly glanced at her watch and pulled up a chair. Foaly glared at her from the corner of his eyes. She stared sassily back.

"So maybe I read the books on a data crystal," she said snarkily. "Doesn't mean I like it or anything. Why aren't they in the Shrieking Shack?"

Foaly sighed and accepted his soup as Holly propped her boots on the desk. "Just watch the damn movie," he said. "If you really want to see the whole thing, Fowl has illegally downloaded all of them."

"I know — I mean, shut up, this is a dramatic moment." Holly stuffed a mouthful of beetle pasta salad into her mouth and chewed loudly. "Did you say Artemis is watching this right now?"

Foaly shushed her and kept his eyes locked on the screen. Holly wisely shut her trap momentarily and settled in.

"Can't believe this is it," she muttered after a moment.

Foaly snickered. "Neither could Juliet. Poor Artemis didn't know what had hit him."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Watch the movie."

"The end of an era," Holly said softly. Foaly nodded his assent. And hundreds of miles up, Artemis Fowl, quite aware of what was happening in the Ops Booth, blinked a little more rapidly than usual and sighed, remembering the rare nights, when he was fully competent of doing so himself, when his father would read bedtime stories of magic and saving the wizarding world. On the screen, the feisty redhead lay in the grass next to the sallow black-haired boy, who loved her so much that he could never say it.

"The very end," Artemis whispered, and bit his lip.

* * *

**Ayup. Shameless real life filtering into writing... Oh well.**


	21. 22

**Yeah, I know. I suck. Life exploded. Imperium is coming eventually. Anywhoo, I meant to post this last night for Artemis's birthday, but it was quite a late night. Enjoy!**

* * *

22

It was one of the rare days that Artemis Fowl the Second did not need an alarm clock to accomplish an awakening before it was too late to enjoy the sunset. At just after six in the morning, he whipped the covers off of his legs, leaping out of his bed, and landed squarely on the antique wood floor of his bedroom. Though he had been quiet, his commotion would have easily woken Butler, so he had to move fast.

Not bothering to pull a robe over his pajamas, he flung his door open and ran down the hallway, which was quite dark in the early morning. But despite his haste, he hadn't managed to evade his bodyguard, and Butler burst out of his room right as Artemis made to sprint by. The manservant, menacing even in his pajamas, snatched his charge by the collar to stop his progress, but Artemis managed to wriggle out of his shirt.

The unexpected action threw Butler, one of the most well-trained bodyguards in the world, off guard, and he called after Artemis as he resumed his run down the hallway, making for the stairs. Artemis paid no heed, and pressed on.

Winded from running up the stairs, he flung his parents' bedroom door open, leaping toward the bed with an ecstatic cry. But instead of landing in a slightly painful mess of limbs, he landed on soft pillows and a downy comforter. Confused, he looked up. His parents were not in bed.

Butler was immediately at the door.

"Artemis, is something wrong?" he asked, hesitant to enter the room, but stepping inside nonetheless. "Are you hurt?"

Artemis hung his head, slumping dramatically, and said nothing.

This smashed down any qualms Butler had with entering the Fowls' bedroom, and he swept over to the boy on the bed. The moment he lifted Artemis's chin, he felt his heart squeeze; the genius's eyes were filled with tears, and his lower lip was quivering. The bodyguard immediately gathered him into his arms.

"Artemis, shh, it's okay," Butler murmured, rocking his charge back and forth. "What's the matter?"

"D-Dey aren't here!" the boy cried, gripping Butler's flannel pajama shirt as the tears spilled over. "Dey l-left for my b-birfday!"

"Oh, Artemis," Butler sighed. "They didn't leave. Maybe they're taking a morning walk. I'm sure they didn't think you would be up this early —"

A two-tone chorus cut his reassurances off as Mr. and Mrs. Fowl entered slowly through the door. Angeline was balancing a tray laden with breakfast for three in her arms and Artemis Senior had his arms full with presents. Artemis stared at them, his mouth hanging open, looking more like a two-year-old boy he really was rather than the little genius adult that he so often portrayed. When his mother sat the tray down on the vanity, he leapt off the bed and into her arms, any thought of tears gone as the birthday chorus ended.

"Oh, my big boy!" Angeline cried, sweeping him into her arms. "Happy birthday, Arty!"

"Happy birthday, son," Artemis Senior said, ruffling the little boy's sleep-mussed black hair.

Artemis beamed.

* * *

The study was darker than it had any right to be. Butler could easily see that over the simple CCTV camera that fed into it. The pale 12-year-old boy at the desk was far too small to belong there, but he stared relentlessly at a computer, almost glaring. Even over the tiny security screen, it was apparent that it had been ages since he had slept, but the manservant, feeling like a bit of a failure in the Butler department, had no idea how long it had been.

He glanced at his watch. It glowed 10:42. He would have to move now or his time would be up.

Swiftly, he took one last sweeping glance at the monitors and rose from his chair. The Manor was dark and dead silent as he ghosted through the hallways, past the solemn portraits and old gas lamps, dusty from disuse and the fact that Butler was the one remaining staff member left. The old, long dead Fowls glared down at him as he sidled into the kitchen, immediately setting the bright red kettle on the flame.

When the water had boiled and the Earl Grey was steeping in the teapot, Butler quickly cut lemons and brought a tray down from the cupboard. He placed a trio of small plates and forks onto the surface, and, on a whim, three small glasses of milk. A true Butler, Juliet picked up her cell phone after one ring when he called.

"Hey bro," she said, her voice tinny over the speaker. "What's up?"

"Come down to the kitchen please," Butler said. "I need an extra pair of hands."

"Ugh, Dom, seriously?" Juliet groaned. "I was just about to put on my honey-almond mask."

"It's important," Butler said firmly, and hung up without another word. A few minutes later, Juliet slumped into the kitchen, sighing dramatically. Wordlessly, Butler handed her a tall, heavy glass-covered platter and picked up the tray. Juliet examined her cargo with raised eyebrows.

"Dang, bro, did you do this?"

"Yes," Butler answered, glancing at the stove clock. It was 11:01. "Now move, please. We're taking these upstairs."

Juliet followed her brother up to the third floor, the pair completely silent through the old creaky hallways. Butler paused at the study door, balancing the tray on one hand to knock. It echoed quite unlike a normal wooden door. Underneath the old oak was a solid layer of steel for security.

"Enter," Artemis paged through the hidden intercom speaker, and the door unlocked from the inside. Butler pursed his lips; the boy sounded too tired, and far too old.

Artemis hadn't moved at all from his desk in the past twenty minutes, now poring over three hefty books spread over his desk. Wrinkles crossed his forehead like intruders.

"Pardon me, sir," Butler said, entering slowly. Juliet stayed behind him.

"What?" Artemis asked sharply, not taking his eyes off the text in front of him.

"It's nearly midnight," Butler observed, placing the tray on a side table and pouring his charge a cup Earl Grey with lemon. "The day is almost over."

Artemis rolled his eyes scathingly. "Yes, Butler, I am aware of what midnight means."

Butler gently placed the cup and saucer in front of his master. "Well, sir, seeing as you have been working all day, I do believe you should take at least a short break and celebrate."

Artemis looked up slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Celebrate what, exactly?" he snapped. "The fact that my father is missing or that my mother doesn't remember my name? Or would you rather me rejoice in the fact that I haven't been able to pay your salary in months, or that I am going nowhere with this stupid, futile, childish project of mine?"

Butler shook his head. "No, sir."

"Then what, Butler?" he asked. "Pray tell, what would you have me celebrate?"

"Well," Juliet said, peering around her brother. "It's not every day that a boy turns twelve. You can celebrate that."

Artemis froze.

"Happy birthday," Butler said softly, and Juliet whipped out the tall, beautiful cake, exquisitely iced with white piping and a single, perfect mint leaf on the top.

Artemis swallowed. "You… have improved, Butler," he said, raspy. "I… thank you."

"It's way too much cake for the three of us," Juliet said, plopping down into one of the chairs facing the desk. "But that just means that breakfast tomorrow is going to be _awesome_."

Artemis rolled his eyes, but allowed Butler to hand him a large piece of cake and a glass of milk.

"It's mint chocolate. I know you're not one for sweets, but I figured you could tolerate a Blue Diamond-made cake," Butler said.

Artemis took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, tasting it thoroughly. "I would very much say so," he said, and took another bite as his computer trilled to notify him of a new email. "Check that, will you?" he asked, and Butler leaned over to look at the computer screen.

"New email from…" He squinted. "Nguyen Xuan. He replies, 'I have what you want. Name your price.'" He frowned. "Who is this man? Has he taken something of yours? Is he… Artemis?"

Butler looked around and felt his stomach drop. Sitting at his father's desk, far too small for his father's chair, Artemis Fowl the Second was crying with a small smile on his face.

* * *

Midnight came with a shattering blast that rocked Fowl Manor to the core.

Artemis was immediately at the window, drawn to the fire that was streaking across the sky, growing rapidly larger and brighter. A split second later, Butler was at his door, looking panicked.

"Artemis, get away from the window!" he yelled, but the genius remained, staring at the fireball streaking toward Fowl Manor.

"Artemis!"

"I can tell its trajectory, old friend," he said calmly. "It will not hit the house."

True to his word, the streak of flame smashed violently into the perfectly manicured lawn, sliding 100 meters to a halt and leaving a deep, burning trench in its wake. Artemis narrowed his eyes, staring at the heat-warped shape of the thing.

"Butler," he said. "Fetch my welding gear. I will hook up the extinguished hose. I will meet you there."

Within five minutes, Artemis was hosing down the inferno, the damp of the soil and grass already extinguishing the tiny fires it had left in its wake. Butler was instantly at his side, handing him the heavy gloves, metal mask, and apron.

"What is it?" he asked softly as the wet craft was clouded with thick black smoke.

"An LEP stealth mini jet pod, formulated especially for Section 8 missions," Artemis murmured, slipping his mask over his hair.

"How do you know that?"

"Hacking, of course," Artemis said patronizingly. Gingerly, he touched the steaming metal with his heavy gloves, searching for the hatch.

The door popped open before he could find it, springing out of the metal with a cheerful pop, and a black-suited figure slowly lolled out, flopping over the craft and landing on its knees. Artemis tipped up his welding mask to get a better look.

The officer reached under the bottom of its helmet, popping it off with a pneumatic hiss. With a rip, Holly Short was free of her helmet, coughing dramatically, her face singed.

"Hey, Artemis," she said, wiping her sweat-wetted bangs away from her forehead. "Happy 22nd."

Artemis raised an eyebrow and cross his arms, looking for all the world like a surly mad scientist. "Holly Short," he said crossly.

Holly grimaced. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I know you haven't heard from me in a while –"

"51 days."

"—but I was on this crazy top secret mission for Section 8 this whole time and I was about to land this thing at Tara when it malfunctioned and I had to make a crash landing. Of course, Foaly was screeching in my helmet that this wasn't his fault, the stupid donkey, so I couldn't really focus on making my handing… eh… pretty…" She eyed the decimated expanse of lawn guiltily.

Artemis rolled his eyes and stripped off his welding gear, holding his arms out expectantly. Holly rushed into them.

"Ow! Ow, ow – Get off of me!" Artemis yelped, flinging her away. "Your suit is _hot_!"

Holly wiggled an eyebrow, thrusting out her hip. "Thanks," she said, playing the sultry up so much that her voice practically oozed with it. "New design."

Artemis wrinkled his nose, eyeing the soot and filth on her skin and hair. "Right. You look horrible. Let's get you out of that and drop you in the shower. I'm afraid since you haven't been _home_ in a month and a half, all of your laundry will be quite stale. Butler, would you run a load?"

"Absolutely," the bodyguard said, quickly departing. "Good to finally have you back," he called over his shoulder.

"Thanks, big man," she responded, and then looked guiltily up at her significant other. "Eh… I'll get Section 8 to cover the repairs," she said. "Sorry I was gone so long."

"Without a word to let me know if you were okay," Artemis said grouchily.

"Oh, you knew I was fine," Holly said, waving it away. "Otherwise you would have come after me. Now, I'm willing to get out of this suit and follow through on your promise for a shower, but only if you join me. Deal?"

"Yes," Artemis said immediately, gingerly taking her hot fingers in his as they made for the house. "It's a good thing nobody else is home. You would have given Mother a heart attack."

"Alone on your birthday?" Holly asked, frowning up at him.

"Not anymore," he said, letting a flicker of a smile ghost over his face. Holly squeezed his hand, and he winced at the heat.

"I don't have a birthday present for you," she sighed. "Well, I mean, I did, but it got a bit damaged in a fight between me, a saber tooth tiger, and a waterfall."

"Oh dear," Artemis said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "However shall I manage?"

"It was really cool!" Holly said, whacking him on the arm as they stepped toward the door.

"Hitting the birthday boy? I'm surprised at you, Holly!"

She snorted, and together they marched into Fowl Manor, arguing as always. Artemis watched Holly stamp up the stairs as he flung his welding gear on the couch, and sighed as she turned the corner. He let himself drop onto the couch and his face immediately fell into his hands as his eyes welled up with relief.

"Artemis?"

He hurriedly sat up, wiping away the tears as Butler leaned over the back of the couch, concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Artemis said quickly. "It's just… she's back. She's safe."

"You knew she would be."

"Maybe," Artemis replied. "But despite the fact that my front yard is completely devastated and has to be back to pristine when my family gets home, that crash landing was the best birthday present she could have given."

Butler rolled his eyes. "I'll take care of the gear. Go upstairs and be a hopeless romantic."

Artemis flashed his oldest friend a grin. "Oh, it's hardly hopeless," he said slyly.

"Oh, please. 'Your suit it hot.' Like _that _was an accident."

"It was very form flattering, and I don't think she understands that she burned a couple of holes in it," Artemis called as he mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he approached his bedroom, he could faintly hear the sound of water rushing through the pipes. And when he entered the bathroom, an elf who was no longer in a burning suit grabbed him by the tie and pulled him down for a long kiss.

"Hello," he whispered when they broke apart. Holly grinned.

"Happy birthday, Mud Boy."

* * *

**Yup yup. I doodled a picture of the crash landing in my physics notes today. It was pretty awesome.**

**Reviews, please!**


	22. Homecoming

**Er... so... it's been a while. Life did that really annoying thing where writing became really hard and just about everything bad that could happen in a two-month span did. The next chapter of Imperium is very slowly nearing completion. This is me getting my ability to write back in 1999 words, and is set after TLC. Thank you Iheartbd's for the suggestion!**

* * *

Homecoming

Artemis's eyes lose their sharpness almost immediately when Butler begins to speak into the phone. It's almost as if his brain would rather relive Limbo — the terror of facing an oncoming army of demons, the burn of fiery air, Holly's death — than the sound of his bodyguard talking to his parents. His eyes vaguely follow patterns in the cheap plaster on the walls as he tries and fails to shut the one-sided conversation out before his brain gets to process it.

"Mrs. Fowl. Yes, I'm fine — doing well, actually. Are you at the Manor?"

Artemis feels his stomach knot around itself. Irrationally, he fears colic, if only for a moment.

"Oh, I hadn't realized that was today. Tell him congratulations for me. Actually — yes, of course — actually, I would like to tell him in person. When can you get back home?"

If there had been much in the way of food in his stomach, Artemis would have lost control of his stomach right then and there. Even so, it's only testament to his extraordinary self-control that he doesn't find himself on his hands and knees, dry heaving on the rug.

"Yes. I'll be at the Manor. How soon? Excellent. No, nothing's wrong. Just… yes. Drive safely. There's no need to hurry. Same to you, ma'am."

Artemis feels like fainting.

"What are they out doing?" he asks, feigning a casual, calm aura spectacularly. Butler isn't fooled, sitting on the couch next to his charge. His eyes can't seem to get enough of the boy's pale, filthy face, haggard and smeared with ashes.

"Myles had a recital," he answered. "Over in London."

Artemis closes his eyes — _two colors_, Butler thinks, reeling. _I'll never get used to that_ — and swallows. "Myles is the one like me," he says slowly, like a victim of a concussion struggling to remember his own name. "Beckett is the average child. The blonde one. Mother's aunt was blonde."

"Myles plays cello," Butler adds after a moment of tense silence. "His first instrument was the piano, though."

"Like me," Artemis says hoarsely.

Butler's brow creases. This boy left his care three years ago, but to Artemis it has only been hours. The lack of his normal intellectual standard is more than a little worrisome. "Are you okay, Artemis?" Butler asks softly, strangely loath to touch the boy after the initial shock of his arrival. "You seem… not yourself."

Artemis's eyes finally open, once more shocking the bodyguard; after so many years of pure blue, it's easy to forget the dichromatic change. The genius laughs hollowly.

"'I'm not myself,'" he repeats. "To be frank, Butler, I'm more than a little shell-shocked. I've traveled out of time, skipped three years of my life, exchanged eyes with the woman I love, and brought her back from the dead. I am no longer an only child, and by saving countless lives in Taipei I have irreparably damaged the lives of those I care about. So yes, forgive me if I am a little altered." Exhausted, Artemis drops his head into his hands.

The odd urge to leave the drained genius untouched broke, and Butler lays a hand gently on the boy's hunched back. Somehow, it still feels a tad bit wrong to touch a body that had seemed so irreversibly lost only minutes before. "Artemis," he says gently, but is cut short when a terrible, unfamiliar sensation passes through his hand.

Artemis is crying silently.

It's not the body-wracking sobs that overtook him in the Arctic. His thin shoulder tremor almost imperceptibly, tiny dark spots clearing dust from his unsalvageable slacks one after the other. For once, Butler is at a loss for what to do. Before, he knew Artemis was crying from relief and joy. This time, it's because he's lost.

"Look at your life," Artemis whispers, his voice thick. "You live alone by the sea in a ramshackle cottage and you were completely miserable until I walked through that door have an hour ago."

"Artemis, look at me," Butler commands, and he has to repeat the order twice before Artemis turns his face up, his eyes red. The hazel iris is out of place, combining two very different but entirely intertwined people. Briefly, Butler wonders if Holly is crying somewhere as well. "I devoted my life to you. My waiting for you is nothing you need to regret. Your parents were obviously forced to deal with the grief of losing you, but their lives have changed. We've all changed. We've all found someone to love while you've been gone."

Though Artemis's eyes are still shining, the tracks through the ash on his face still fresh, Butler's slip of the tongue derailed his overwhelmed train of thought. "Someone to love?"

Beneath the beard, Butler's face turns slightly pink.

Artemis's gaze flicks over to the bookshelf.

Butler's face quickly becomes a deep red.

"I knew you wouldn't read fiction without a strong incentive," Artemis said blandly, and flashes his vampire smile. "Why is it we both want women we shouldn't?"

Butler isn't sure whether to be annoyed or grateful for Artemis's acceptance. He looks away, shaking his head. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Artemis's smile drop and the fatigue return when the boy thinks he's not looking.

Butler decides to be grateful.

* * *

Butler is slightly weirded out when Artemis climbs into the front seat of the compact little car, ignoring his usual spot in the backseat. But when they reach the main road, Artemis gives up any attempt to stay awake and lays his head on the middle compartment as Ireland passes by. Butler chances a glance down at a stoplight. Artemis eyebrows are straining toward each other even in his sleep.

Ireland hasn't changed much in three years. A few new buildings have gone up, a few lots of trees mowed down for new development, but the winding rural road leading to Fowl Manor remains untouched, as green and vibrant as ever. Artemis sleeps through all of it.

Butler wonders for a long time what drew his charge to tears. Somehow, Artemis's dramatic outburst seems only like a cover up. After a long time, Butler realizes that the boy is absolutely terrified to face his family and suddenly, the pain and loneliness of the past three years seem pale. It doesn't matter anymore, not when Artemis is afraid to face his own family.

Regretfully, Butler is forced to wake Artemis up in his REM cycle an hour and a half after they left his cottage, parked in the driveway of the Manor. The genius is crabby and sluggish when he crawls out of the car, eyeing his home. Like the land around it, Fowl Manor hasn't changed in the three years of his absence.

"I left this house three days ago," he tells his bodyguard as they walk up the stairs.

"Not quite," Butler replies.

Artemis swallows audibly.

The house is obviously empty as they make their way to the kitchen. Butler makes Artemis a quick salad and gourmet sandwich while the boy sits on the counter, leaning back against the overhead cabinets with his eyes closed. The sagging, grimy body tugs at Butler's heartstrings, and he finds himself wiping away the filth encrusted on Artemis's face and neck more tenderly than he touches his lover. Artemis's eyes crack open, surveying his bodyguard languidly.

"You love her," he states. Butler nods. Artemis closes his eyes again. "I figured. You aren't quite the kind of man to lure in a 15-year-old girl."

"No," Butler replies. "She lured me."

"Of course she did," Artemis says, a smile flickering at the corner of his lips. "We geniuses love manipulating people we love."

"Genii?"

"They're both correct. Genii is the Latin plural, which, when Anglicized, is geniuses."

"And here I was, thinking I learned something," Butler says.

"You'd think so," Artemis replies. When he opens his eyes, Butler is smiling fondly at him.

"I've missed you," the bodyguard tells him.

"And I have missed you," Artemis says. "You have no idea what it's like to face down a demon army without your physical half."

Butler rolls his eyes. "Go change, please," he says. "You look like you've been rolling in a burned down garbage dump."

Artemis raises a slender eyebrow. "I haven't been here for three years."

"Your parents haven't gotten the courage up to raid your room. Now go."

Artemis slides off the counter, groaning theatrically. "Who, exactly, works for who here?" he asks, but there's an unusual tone in his voice, and after a moment Butler understands that he's trying to make a joke.

_Weird_, Butler thinks. _What have you done to him, Holly?_

Artemis is back down quickly, his face completely clear and a crisp cotton suit cocooning his body. Butler can only imagine where the soiled one is. Some hidden incinerator, probably. The boy eats like he hasn't seen food in years, but somehow holds on to his upper class poise, eating quickly but politely. Butler, who is long used to Artemis being a sort of superhuman, is mildly impressed. He just watches the boy, reveling in the luxury of being able to watch thin fingers move, a long nose breathe in and out, eyes flick from target to target with an almost frightening intensity. Artemis's hair, though combed back to neatness, is still a smoky grey, and at a glance it appears as if he's aged fifty years.

The great front door opens and closes and a set of small feet charges up the stairs. Angeline's voice floats through the air, asking Butler — a new bodyguard apparently — to follow Beckett upstairs. A young, high voice — Myles — sound and then more little footsteps walk alongside the surprisingly light footsteps of the bodyguard. Angeline's voice comes closer to the kitchen as she calls for the older Butler.

Butler glances at his charge. Artemis looks like he's about to be sick.

"In the kitchen," he calls, and then whispers "Try not to look so green, Artemis. It doesn't suit you."

The genius sends him a withering glance, which is somewhat depleted by his nausea, but he composes himself quickly, pulling a cold mask over his face. Angeline and Artemis Senior turn the corner, looking shockingly young hand in hand. They look at Butler expectantly, and then almost simultaneously they spot their firstborn and everything freezes.

Angeline begins to move after a long second of the family staring at each other, her eyes welling up. "Arty," she whispers, choking on her words. Artemis Senior grabs her shoulder, his eyes narrowing.

"Stop," he commands, and Artemis feels his stomach fall out from under him. "He's too young."

"Timmy —?"

"Artemis should be seventeen," his father comments. "Butler, I understand that you've grown perhaps a bit… confused, since Artemis disappeared, but this imposter is has different colored eyes and is no older than fifteen."

Artemis closes his eyes as Butler begins to speak, but holds up a hand. The bodyguard is silenced. Artemis feels magic stir in his stomach.

"Human," he says softly, and he can feel Butler tense from across the room as his dichromatic eyes flash open. "Your will is mine."

The mesmer-laced words are some of the most powerful Butler has ever heard, despite the small amount of magic Artemis possesses. His mother squeaks in surprise as his father's eyes lose their focus, but he catches her attention and repeats himself. Within seconds, the Fowl parents are completely under his spell.

"Artemis," Butler says.

"I am Artemis Fowl the Second," Artemis declares, speaking over his bodyguard. "I am your son. I have not been home for nearly three years because I have been away, dealing with family affairs. I look my age of seventeen, and my eyes are both blue, as they always have been."

They stare at him blankly.

"Butler has never told you a story about where I've been for the past three years. In fact, he has been with me from time to time. He will not tell you what I have been doing. When anyone asks, you will no disclose details of where we have been, since we have not disclosed details ourselves. Because of Father's past, you understand that sometimes even families need to have secrets. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," they say in unison. Butler watches impassively, his face blank.

"Very well," Artemis says. "Humans, your wills are your own."

The Fowls blink, clearing their minds, and then Angeline smiles brilliantly. "Arty!" she says brightly, and she comes forward to hug him, his Father following quickly. "Oh, darling, you've been gone for so long!"

"What have you been up to?" his father asks, enclosing both his wife and son in his arms.

"Oh," Artemis says. "This and that."

But over his parents' shoulders, Butler can see Artemis's two-toned eyes pleading with him, wide with guilt.

* * *

**Review, please and thank you!**


	23. Alternatives

**SPOILERS AHOY FOR THE LAST GUARDIAN. Consider yourself warned. I had my issues with the final book, especially with the ending. So I composed some alternative ones that I liked much better.**

**My favorite version of the song in part two can be found here: soundcloud.com/ivyblossom/she-says**

* * *

Alternatives

* * *

I.

* * *

_It's horrible,_ Holly thinks, _how bloody calm he is. He's accepted that my eye is going to end his life. There is absolutely nothing about this situation that deserves to be spoken calmly about._

She gives up fighting against Butler's arms; his heart is stuttering, and she'd rather not kill _both _of her friends today.

Artemis locks eyes with her, tapping his forehead. "Do you remember what I told you?"

Holly nods, her vision of him warping as her eyes well up and her throat swells. She blinks rapidly. She wants to be able to see him clearly before he goes. One last look.

The gate roars, swelling, green light flashing out. Butler's grip tightens; Holly can feel her bones creak in protest. Artemis raises a hand to the barrier that surrounds him, the flimsy, thin, ever-so-powerful magic that will cut him off forever, and offers up one final smile as his — Holly's — eye begins to glow and —

Juliet's leap off the top of the tower is so fast that even Holly's superior vision registers nothing but a blur. Butler winces as she lands on top of his charge to avoid passing through the barrier, and then cries out in protest as there's a flash of silver and a thick splatter of red, followed instantly by a horrible screech of pain from underneath her.

And then it's over. The bubble disappears and the two plummet down. Juliet manages to flip them over in the air so that when Butler catches them she cushions Artemis's impact. Instantly Butler lowers his screaming charge to the ground.

Holly peers over the bodyguard's shoulder and feels sick to her stomach as the two siblings begin their attempts to staunch the bleeding.

"Please tell me you have the magic to fix this," Butler shouts over Artemis's howls as he tears strips of fabric from his suit jacket and applies pressure to the trauma.

It's not pretty; Holly can't even think of a word accurate to describe how awful it is. Juliet had stabbed all the way through Artemis's hazel eye, violently twisted, and then yanked so roughly that the optic nerve had snapped. It's a crude and brutal solution and has left the genius out of his mind with pain, but it's a far better alternative than dead.

"I'm bone dry," she replies, reaching between the furiously working siblings to take one of Artemis's spasming hands. "Artemis, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand, it'll help take your mind off the — agh!" Holly keens as Artemis's fingers clamp down on hers, his body seizing up and straining on the grass.

Butler swears and pins down the boy's shoulders.

And then — and they will never let her forget it, d'arvit — Holly starts laughing. Juliet spares a single instant to send her a scathing glare (Butler is too busy trying to stop Artemis's spine from contorting into various nauseating positions) but then Holly's hysterical giggles turn into full-on sobs. Artemis's screams have somewhat lessoned to loud, long-suffering moans, and he grapples for her hand, squeezing as gently as he can manage. He's somewhat come back to himself.

"You're not allowed to do this anymore," Holly gasps, choking on her words. "You can't — you can't lie to me anymore, Artemis. You just can't."

"Juliet," Butler says hurriedly, "thank you for saving his life, but this bleeding is not stopping." He turns to Holly, who's biting her free hand in an effort to staunch her sudden panic attack. "You're sure you can't do anything?"

"I would have done something by now if I could," Holly snaps. "I don't have a single drop of magic in my system."

"Well then," comes a squeaky voice from behind them. "Allow me to give you some."

All three of the (relatively) uninjured parties turn slowly, cocking their heads as one. Myles reaches a hand out to Holly.

"How —" she splutters. "How do _you_ have magic?"

Myles sighs, vexed, and rolls his eyes. "I stole some from my parasite, _obviously_."

Holly rears back, momentarily thrown from the drama at hand. _Oh my Gods, if Artemis's baby brother is this much like him, his children will be double as creepy._

Artemis gives out a groan of raw agony, pulling Holly back to reality. Myles shakes his hand in her face and she gingerly takes it, worming her sore fingers from Artemis's death grip and cupping his cheek as the Butler siblings back off.

"Heal," she breathes, and is met with the strangely uncomfortable feeling of unfamiliar magic entering her body, tearing through, and instantly bursting out the other side. Sparks swarm furiously around Artemis's face until his moans turn to whimpers and then fade away entirely. As the magic vanishes, they all lean forward to examine the results. Artemis's left eye blinks, but the stumpy optic nerve is all that's visible from the right. It's not ideal, but it's far better than the alternative, and they breathe a sigh of relief. Artemis, on the other hand, is less than satisfied; he scowls bitterly.

"I've just lost my depth perception," he says crabbily, his voice rough and raw in a way that sends tingles down Holly's spine, but she simply offers up a solid smack to the face in response.

"Sometimes I hate you, Mud Boy," she says, but her lips are quivering ever so slightly, making it hardly a convincing argument.

Artemis puts a filthy palm on the stinging skin. "You really like hitting me," he comments dryly.

Holly scowls, ready to fire off a response, but is interrupted before she even gets the chance to open her mouth.

"Jules!" comes Beckett's voice, and she looks up to the top of the tower just in time for a pair of Y-fronts to land smack on her face.

"Beckett!" she hollers, tearing them off, but the boy is already running down the stairs, gleefully pantless. Myles sighs tersely.

Holly turns back to Artemis, who has yet to get off the ground, and half-smiles, shaking her head. Her lips part, ready to say something along the lines of "Well, I'm really glad you're not dead because boy, that would have sucked" when Beckett slams into her at full speed, propelling her forward and over Artemis. Her hands land at either side of his head and she blushes, making moves to rise. Before she can back off, Artemis's hands are gently pulling her back down.

Butler and Juliet instantly round up the boys and scuttle off to inspect the considerable damage done to the lawn.

A few minutes later, Holly finally (and very reluctantly) pulls away from the glorious kissing session of all kissing sessions and rests her forehead against Artemis's.

"You're such an idiot," she whispers.

"I love you too," he breathes, and grins.

* * *

II.

* * *

It's midnight. The full moon shines brightly through Fowl Manor's windows, illuminating the snowy farmland now spreading out in every direction. Holly lands on Artemis's balcony, invisible, and raps on the glass. After a few more tries and no answer, she flies down the Butler's window, almost gets a nice round hole through her head, and is let into the house feeling very, very aware of her mortality.

Artemis is still not in his room when she makes it up, and she searches the lab, the office, the library, the music room all to no avail. It's difficult to irritate a fairy who has just completed the Ritual, but as usual, Artemis has succeeded.

He isn't quite the same, even a month after the rebirth. His memories are shadowy, half there, but enough so to create some semblance of their previous trust. His family is easier for him to love, but Butler remains something of an issue for Artemis, much to the bodyguard's chagrin. Holly fights for patience, but sometimes she wants to take the doubting genius by the collar and shake him for not remembering. She knows it's hardly his fault, and feels guilty about it when she watches him struggle with a particular memory or skill.

He lets his guard down in ways that he never would have before. Sometimes she catches him when he thinks no one is looking. He'll be staring into space, lost in thought, and then come back to earth with a little half-smile that makes her stomach feel very nice and warm. He'll be painting with a smile on his face, or playing the cello with his eyes closed and his brow furrowing in time to the music. These moments are the things that Holly cherishes. She knows he's not the old Artemis, and she knows that he feels inadequate in comparison. Half of him is the boy who kidnapped her and grew up to sacrifice his life. The other half is just genetic code that was grown in a petri dish. She simply can't fathom the feeling of people so heavily expecting you to be who you simply aren't.

Eventually, Holly finds him in a small parlor lit only by a dying fireplace. Artemis doesn't notice as she enters and then freezes in the doorway, transfixed.

He's curled on the couch, Beckett snuggled against his chest, and — she's dreaming, she _has_ to be dreaming — he's singing the young boy to sleep. She stares.

Artemis strokes Beckett's curls, his voice low and soft, the perfect quiet in the silent room with just the right amount of vibrato to give Holly chills.

_"Please try not to love me. Close your eyes; I'm turning on the light..."_

She does as he says, closing her eyes and letting his voice wash over her. He sings of rain, of quiet love from across the room, and of being unable to return it. And when he finishes that, it's dead silent, and Holly opens her eyes again.

He's staring straight at her, Beckett sleeping in his arms. Holly swallows, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and waves sheepishly.

"I didn't know you sang," she says hoarsely.

He nods, unblinking. Holly feels distinctly uncomfortable, which she is completely not okay with feeling around Artemis. He must sense it because he thrusts his head toward the couch and rises with the young boy. She takes his place — it's warm, which shouldn't be strange, but it is because Artemis himself is just so unbelievably cold — and he leaves, returning a few minutes later empty handed and sitting on the other end of the couch.

"I don't sing in front of people," he says stiffly.

"Obviously," Holly returns. "Or I would know that you sound so good when you do."

It's the wrong thing to say. Artemis's pale cheeks flush in the golden light and his face locks down. Holly feels a brief moment of panic, scooting closer.

"Please talk to me," she begs. "I miss you so much."

"No," Artemis snaps. "You miss _him._"

Holly's lips part ever so slightly at the remark, her eyebrows drawing together. No matter how true that may be, it still stings deeply.

"Did you kiss him?" Artemis asks, avoiding her gaze. "Because I have a very distinct memory of that."

"Yes," she says, her voice more than a little rough around the edges. "I did."

He sneers, carding a hand through his rumpled hair. "You must have loved him very much." It's not a compliment; his voice is snide.

"No," Holly says firmly. "I loved _you_."

He scoffs. She slides closer, her criss-crossed knees touching his thigh.

"People change," she tells him. "Usually they don't change bodies or change from being dead to alive, but they still become different than they once were. You're still Artemis Fowl."

Artemis's voice has lost its spite when he speaks. He sounds far older than he should, haggard and weary. "You call me Artemis."

"Of course I do. That's your name."

"You called him Arty."

She's thrown, and he knows it. He chokes a laugh and turns his head, his voice coming thick and ragged.

"I can't trust my own memories," he says, and that completely breaks the flood gates. The truth comes pouring out in a way it never would have before. "Everything from my past life is half-formed and watery, and I only have your word to go off of that it's real. And who are you to tell me that? Memories are just data; they're easy to erase or construct. Who's to say that you didn't make the breakthrough in cloning technology that made it possible for me to be a sentient being? Who's to say that this house, this family, my bodyguard, you — that you all aren't all pretending for me, to make me feel better or to observe me, or whatever the hell you're doing? I can't trust any of you. I can't trust anything I see; I can't even trust the memories in my own head."

Holly pulls herself onto her knees and snatches his shoulders. He's worked himself nearly into hysterics, his eyes shining in a way they don't normally.

"Trust this," she whispers, eyes closing, and kisses him. She feels something streak down her cheek, and she pulls away. Artemis follows, tucks his head into her shoulder, and cries. She strokes his neck, his jawline, his hair, and tells him about the gorilla cage, about the time she realized that she had found a truly amazing friend, and most of all, she tells him over and over again how much she loves him.

"It's true, you can create false memories," she murmurs. "But emotions? You can't create those. Trust your feelings, Arty. And remember that I couldn't do without you."

Slowly, he calms, and when Butler comes to find Artemis in the morning, he discovers the boy with his head pillowed on the stomach of a sleeping fairy.

* * *

III.

* * *

It's not until a week after Artemis dies that Holly even manages to come in contact with Foaly. Even then it's by pure chance. Between grief, chaos, loss of electronic communication and just plain missing each other, it's not until six days after the fact that Holly manages to catch a moment of the centaur's time.

"He said something about a chrysalis," she tells him, and Foaly's face momentarily lights up only to fall right back down.

"Did he now?" Foaly says. "That's great, Holly, but I'm pretty sure he meant for you to tell me sooner."

Holly, it turns out, is too late. Foaly's refrigerated samples of Artemis's blood (yes, he had some; do not judge, please and thank you) had been decimated in the explosions, and any live DNA samples deteriorated post mortem.

"Dig his body up!" she demands. "They only buried him yesterday!"

Foaly shakes his head. "Even his body is useless now; he's decaying, Holls. And even if it would make a difference, you just don't dig up the dead."

Holly doesn't want to think about it, but Foaly's words bring to mind a body dissolving in the ground. Maggots and worms will chew through Artemis's alabaster pale skin and brilliantly powerful brain until there's nothing left but bones. And then some dwarf will chew through the bones and not know or care who they once belonged to.

It's horrible, living without him.

Haven recovers far faster than the human world. Life is — almost — back to normal within the next quarter. Holly no longer gets to block out her thoughts with rebuilding and rescue.

She had known that she had never wanted to live without Artemis, but she had never fully understood just how much it would _hurt_. She never anticipated missing his narcissistic smirks or his snide little comments or just how much pissed her off day to day. It's like living with a hole blown in one of her lungs. Every time she looks in a mirror the breath is knocked from her body. It's almost, she figures, like their souls were twisted so completely together by fate or some higher power, and then something malfunctioned and they were ripped apart, leaving unbearable agony behind.

Butler's denial lasts seven months before he completely loses it.

He packs up and leaves Fowl Manor without a word or notice and makes his way to the current location of the bodyguard academy in rural Sudan to escape his own mind. To everyone's surprise (everyone being Holly and Foaly and Juliet, Butler being too far gone to care), Madam Ko takes pity on hum and allows him a room and a grass mat. Every day he runs as far and as fast as he can and then meditates until night falls. He rarely eats. One day he runs too far and his heart gives out, and this time there is no defibrillator or fairy on hand.

He's buried where he collapsed. Juliet, Holly, and Madam Ko are the only witnesses as the acolytes shovel sand over his body.

And so Domovoi Butler follows Artemis Fowl the Second.

Holly lives on, as much as one can live without feeling. She eats and sleeps and goes on her assigned missions without a spark of passion and that's it. Even soaring over the open countryside no longer holds joy for her. Foaly attempts to slip her happy pills and they do absolutely nothing for her because she can't do anything but miss her boys and no pill can do anything about that. When she finds out, she throws a chair through his screens and screams and screams until her voice gives out. Foaly never tries to do it again.

The last time Artemis had touched her had been a leap of faith, a trust in her that she would do as he asked of her, and she had failed him. Holly has never felt so worthless in her life.

It happens in Portland. Recon is cleaning up an incident involving an uncatchable sprite in an illegal experimental weapons warehouse. He's tricky, but Holly's trickier, and she manages to round a corner and catch a flash of his shirt disappearing into the next aisle. She turns after him, panting in something near excitement, and then the world is exploding around her.

Things dim. Her entire body is covered in a rapidly cooling liquid — her own blood, judging by the missing lower half of her body. She hangs on for a few precious seconds, long enough for Trouble's hands to cup her face before she slips away.

And so Holly Short follows Artemis Fowl the Second.

But there is nowhere to follow him to in the after, and once it leaves her body, Holly Short's soul loses touch with everything.

**Thirty Years Later**

He finds her by the river, dipping her toes in the clear snow melt that trickles by. He sits beside her, rolling up his too-short pant legs.

"Hi," he says, his voice whistling slightly through the gap between his two front teeth. "I'm 'Temis. I'm five."

"Holly," she says shyly without looking up. "I'm four, but I'll be five soon."

Artemis grins widely, thrusting his chubby little hand toward her. "Let's be friends," he proposes, and she finally looks up at him. His insides do a happy little dance. Her eyes are a clear hazel.

"Okay," she says cautiously, not quite trusting him, and shakes. They spend a moment just smiling at each other and feeling like there's something unsaid between them even though, for the life of them, they have no idea what it is or that it's even there.

"Artemis!" someone hollers from the woods. The little boy's face lights up.

"Dom!" he crows as the brawny teenage boy emerges from the trees. Holly shrinks a little.

Artemis holds out his arms and Domovoi sweeps him up. "Don't be scared," Artemis tells Holly. "This is my big brother Dom. He protects me from bad things."

Domovoi smiles at the little girl, who in turn blanches, jumps up, punches him in the stomach, and runs away. It's hardly winding, but Domovoi pretends for her sake as she skitters upriver. Artemis waves after her.

"Bye Holly!" he calls. "See you tomorrow!"

Domovoi chuckles, and Artemis peers down over his shoulder, tweaking his ear.

"She's pretty," Artemis tells him confidently. "I'm going to marry a girl like that someday."

Domovoi smiles fondly, as all people do at young children in love, and hoists his little brother on top of his shoulders.

"How do you feel about onion soup tonight, little man?"

"Onion soup!" Artemis cries, beaming, and begins a chant. Domovoi's laugh booms through the forest as they walk home, ringing clear in the mountain air.

Somewhere, buried deep in Artemis's young heart, he knows that he feels complete in a way that he's never felt before, and it won't be until years from now that he'll realize it's because he's found his soul mate.

* * *

**So my issues lie mainly at the final scenes — the death scene and all that follows, really. One of those things being how incredibly dispassionate the whole situation was. Where was the love, where was the grief? There was no mention of the reactions of the family, or of Holly's life after. Nothing on how it felt to be without Artemis. The only mention was of Butler's denial, which was pretty much "Welp, he's in denial, no big deal, whatever, moving on." All this lack of emotion made the return _so_ unimpressive. There was no reason to be happy that Artemis had managed to create a failsafe or anything, no tragedy in the fact that he couldn't remember who he or any of the people who had saved his life and been saved by him countless times were. I just — ugh. I need to stop ranting and just write more of what I want to have happened.**

**I. Do I have a just thing about my characters losing an eye in as massively traumatic ways as possible? I think I do. That's probably not very psychologically healthy.**

**II. I've always had this little love for Artemis being able to sing but being too uptight to share that with anyone. He's very artistic, but he either uses his talents for business (forging art, selling novels) or private use (composing symphonies, etc.). **

**III. Reincarnation is an extremely interesting concept to think about and also full of holes like what if you run out of souls because of population growth? Do you just send down a plague or something to wipe half of them out? I think I feel a plot bunny breeding...**


	24. Sacrifices

**An interesting alternative.**

* * *

**6 January, 1990**

No matter how rich or important you become, hospitals will always be horrible places.

Today, Artemis Fowl the Second is four months and five days old. Night has fallen. There is a high chance he won't live to see the sun rise.

They should have caught it sooner, when surgery was still an option. He had been small for his age, and developmentally slow. They should have seen it.

By the time they had found the hole in his heart, however, it was too late.

"It's only a matter of days until he passes," the doctor had said on the first day of the new decade. "The problem has complicated enough so that surgery is useless. Even if we were able to repair his heart, the brain damage from lack of oxygen is astounding. He'd be nothing more than a vegetable."

Six days since the diagnosis. Arty is still breathing. Barely, but he's hung on thus far.

Angeline hasn't left his side. Six days in NICU will do just about anyone in, and she looks about ready to tear apart at the seams, her fingers forever playing at the thick plastic separating her from her tiny baby. Butler is a shadow in the corner, not speaking, leaving only when he's sure his uncle has his back. Major is strangely brooding; often unaffected by traumatic events, he seems to be taking this one harder than usual.

Artemis stands by the foot of the covered crib, his brain running at full steam. He's known Angeline for too long to think that she'll come out of this the same woman she was going in. At one point in his life, he had thought that if a couple lost a child, they could have another to replace it. Now that he's a parent, he knows just how wrong he was.

"Angeline," he says suddenly, shattering the morose silence of the room. "Dr. Parmer asked me to speak with him. The meeting is in ten minutes." She makes to stand, a movement so painful that it seems almost arthritic. Artemis steps forward, takes her by the shoulders, and gently pushes her back down. "Stay with him," he says. "Just in case."

She nods, wiping at her eyes when she thinks he's not looking.

"Major," he says as the man heads to the door. "Stay, would you?"

The man cocks an eyebrow. "Sir?"

"This is a meeting I'd prefer to make alone."

Major obviously objects but has the training to refrain from speaking out. Artemis kisses the top of Angeline's head, places his hand over hers on the crib's plastic covering, takes one last look of his son, and leaves.

There is no meeting with Dr. Parmer.

Artemis keeps himself inconspicuous as he meets his man in the lobby and retrieves a locked briefcase. His skin prickles as he exits the hospital, hailing a cab fairly quickly. He consults the map in his pocket and tells the cabbie where to drive. He gets a strange look in the rearview mirror, but soon enough they're traveling down a dark highway in the middle of nowhere. They turn onto a dirt road. Eventually, Artemis sees what he wants.

"Stop," Artemis tells him, and the cab drifts to the side of the road. Artemis hands him double what the meter reads, and then leans through the middle partition. "Go a mile back the way we came and wait for me. You'll get five times your return fare if you follow my instructions. I've got a very sick child waiting for me and I don't want to be late getting back."

"Sir, I —"

"Have you ever heard of the Fowl family, Mr... Andrew Michaels?"

The cabbie falls silent, eyes straight ahead, and nods.

"Good. Now do as I said."

Artemis steps out of the backseat, waiting until the taillights have disappeared to survey his surroundings.

He is standing at a crossroads.

Artemis kneels, placing his briefcase on the ground and retrieving a trowel. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he's left with dust on his hands and a shallow hole. He opens the briefcase again and, with shaking hands, pulls out a small box.

Inside lies a picture of himself taken only a few days prior. Underneath that is a small bottle of dirt from the Fowl cemetery and the bones of a black cat he had had the Major kill. He closes the lid, sighs deeply, and lowers the box into the hole, covering it carefully. Nothing happens. He stands, swallowing.

"Interesting. No one's summoned me in a very long time."

Artemis whips around, ready to call for a bodyguard who isn't there. His words die in his throat. Behind him stands the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"My eyes are up here, doll," she says. "What's your name?"

"Artemis," he breathes. She smiles sweetly.

"Hi, Artemis," she croons. "What can I do for you tonight?"

He swallows. "Are you —"

"A demon? Yes. You're a smart man; you know I'm not lying."

"Prove it," he demands, and instantly regrets it because she closes off his airway with the sweetest of smiles, her hands nowhere near touching him.

"Proof enough?" she asks. He nods, and she releases him. "Now, sweetheart. You wouldn't have summoned me if it weren't urgent."

"My son," he tells her. "He's got a hole in his heart. He's brain damaged and he's going to die very soon if you don't fix it."

"Tell me what you want," she says.

"I want you to make him the healthiest child that hospital has ever seen," Artemis says. "No heart defects, no brain damage. I want him to be perfectly healthy in mind and body."

The demon smiles. "I can do that."

"I know."

"Though I do make it a point to negotiate the price before signing my contract."

Artemis squares his shoulders. "I'm a very good businessman."

Her lips curl, her eyes flashing yellow. "I'm sure you are. Look, Timmy, I like you a lot. You're a good guy and you're cute. So I'll cut you a deal. Not only will I fix your boy, but I'll let you have ten years with him. And then I'll come for your soul. Sound good?"

He nods shakily. "Can you make it look like an accident?"

"Sure I can, babe."

"Deal."

Suddenly, she's right in front of him, her eyes burning yellow. He breathes in sharply as her lips meet his, her teeth biting down on his lower lip.

"Nothing to worry about," she breathes. "Just sealing the deal."

He blinks, and she's gone.

* * *

It takes nearly an hour to get back to the hospital, but Arty's room is crowded with doctors and nurses when he gets back. He pushes through the throng to meet Angeline, who's sobbing with something that looks like relief.

"He's okay," she gasps into the crook of his neck. "I don't know what happened, but he's going to be okay."

"His vitals have improved exponentially," one of the doctors said. "We need to run a lot of further tests, but his brain function has jumped off the charts. I don't know what it is, Mr. Fowl, but I would call it a miracle."

Artemis smiles tightly, embracing his wife and feeling Major's eyes on the dirt wedged under his fingernails. "Yes," he says. "A miracle."

* * *

**3 January 2000**

"Major."

The bodyguard stops at his master's door, opening it. Artemis is at his desk, frowning at his computer.

"Sir?"

"Come in and close the door."

He does so. Artemis gestures at one of the oxblood chairs perched before his desk. Major sits. A few minutes pass as Artemis types furiously, and then he pushes his computer away and looks his bodyguard square in the eye.

"Sir?" Major asks.

"In three days," Artemis says by means of answering, "I am going to die."

Major stands so fast that there seems to be no transition from his position in the chair and looming over Artemis's desk. The Fowl patriarch holds up his hands placatingly.

"Please sit down."

"Who's doing this to you?"

Artemis sighs, kneading against his temples. "I've done it to myself," he says.

Major's jaw clenches, rippling the muscles in his neck. "Mr. Fowl. Artemis. We can fix this. Whatever hole you've dug yourself into, we can get you out. That's my job."

"You can't fix this, Major."

"Yes I can!"

"It's not _human_."

Major stares, his eyes boring into his charge, trying to decipher the infuriatingly calm face. The Ko Academy teaches bodyguards to do a lot of things, but dealing with suddenly insane charges graced with death wishes is not on the list.

"Artemis," he says lowly, lowering himself back into his chair. "Tell me."

The Fowl patriarch sighs heavily, stands, and pours himself and his lifelong a drink. "Arty's life hangs in the balance." He holds up a hand, stopping Major from speaking. "And that is not something that Butler is to know."

"Sir —"

"Even if he knew, Major, he could do nothing about it. You can't shoot a demon in the head."

This stops the bodyguard short, and he slowly cocks his head, cataloguing just how long it will take to bring Artemis safely to the ground where he can call a doctor and have him transferred to a very comfortable padded room. "A demon, sir?" he asks, accepting his brandy from his employer but not drinking.

"I made a deal," Artemis says. "A ten year contract. It will be up in three days, and then she'll come for me."

The Major's eyes burn into his.

"What?" Artemis asks, smiling humorlessly. "You actually thought Arty's recovery was a medical miracle?"

"Demons don't exist, sir."

"I can assure you that they do," Artemis said. "Crossroads demons are particularly vicious, but she was kind enough to grant me an entire decade with my son. I could not have asked for more."

The Major's eyes narrow. "So you're going where in three days, sir? When this demon comes to collect you."

"Oh, to hell, I assume." Artemis drains his glass. "I've set up a sizable account in your name. You are to do with the money what you will. I'm sorry that I'm knocking out your source of income on such short notice."

"It's not about the job, Artemis," Major says softly.

"It never really has been, has it?" the Fowl patriarch muses. "You're an incredibly good man, Major. It's been an honor to spend my life at your side."

"You've always gotten out of anything that can get you in trouble," Major says, trying for one last time.

Artemis's lips quirk up humorlessly. "Not this time," he says. "If I try and go back, Arty drops dead, and you wouldn't want to do that to poor Butler's psyche, would you?"

Major frowns.

"It's all right," Artemis assures him. "I've been waiting for this for ten years. Just don't get in the way. That's an order, Major."

The Major's lips tighten. "Yes, sir," he says.

* * *

Butler sits ramrod straight in bed, Sig at the ready, the moment that Major cracks the door open.

"Relax," he says. "It's just me. Get up."

Butler does as he's told — still so young, Major thinks — and faces his uncle, stone-faced and ready for action.

"I need you to hold down the fort for me," Major says. "I'm leaving the Manor for a few hours."

Butler's brow furrows. "Anything I should know?"

"No," Major says shortly, and waits as his nephew quickly changes into his customary suit. "I expect excellence from you, Domovoi."

The younger bodyguard frowns, pausing in the middle of his full Windsor. "Sir?" he questions.

"Nothing," Major says gruffly. "Just do your job." He claps his nephew on the shoulder and sweeps from the room, leaving the confused younger man to slip his Sig into his holster in silence.

* * *

The Major straightens, brushing dirt from the knees of his trousers, and sighs deeply. He's alone at the crossroads.

"Hello, dear."

Or maybe not.

He turns, surveying the woman before him critically. She's conventionally beautiful, but he's been around long enough to know that beautiful women can be the most dangerous of them all. She smiles kindly.

"Don't fret," she says. "I'm unarmed."

"In what sense?" he asks gruffly. She grins.

"I like you," she replies. "Bodyguard to the core. We all watched the little drama unfold today from down under. It's great entertainment."

"I need to know if I can save him," the Major says, all business. The crossroads demon smiles dangerously, her pupils glowing ever so slightly at the edges.

"You can," she says. "But there will be no ten year contract for you."

* * *

**6 January 2000**

The first explosion rocks the entire ship, sending cries of alarm rattling against the metal walls. Artemis grips the edge of his desk, paling.

"It's started," he says. "She said she would make it look like an accident. Stay out of the way, Major. No sense in the both of us going down."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," the Major says grimly, his jaw tightening, his lips tingling at the reminder of the deal-sealing kiss three days prior.

"Come," Artemis says, standing. "I'd like to see the sky one more time."

Major follows his charge as he sweeps out of the room, his bones rattling with another explosion in the hallway. His hand flies out to catch Artemis as he lurches toward a wall. His charge is pale, gasping. Terror radiates from his eyes.

"Are you afraid?" Major asks softly, his low voice carrying over the alarms sounding through the _Fowl Star_.

"Yes," Artemis manages to get out, his pupils dilating.

"Don't be. I'm here," Major says, and it's then that Artemis _gets it_. He whips around, his mouth opening, and then she's there, right between them.

"Hello, doll," she drawls to Artemis, and then turns to the Major, her eyes glowing, giving him a glimpse into the very depths of hell. "Time's up, Bronislav."

"No!" Artemis shouts, and grabs for her, but she raises a hand he's slammed back against the wall, struggling to reach his bodyguard. Major locks eyes with him.

"Be safe, Artemis," he says, and then the demon's hand is inside his chest, her nails sinking into his heart, and there's blood coming out of his mouth and Artemis is screaming his name.

The last thing Bronislav sees is his charge's icy blue eyes, and the last expression to grace his face is a blood-stained smile.


	25. So the Lover Must Struggle for Words

**Written with permission by left-foot-fowl. Thank you for allowing me use of your gorgeous headcannon.**

* * *

There is no method but to be very intelligent."

— T. S. Eliot

* * *

So the Lover Must Struggle for Words

The moonlight is his canvas, the shadows of her muscular back the ink. His eyes trace the contours, swathed gracefully in the silk of his sheets. She is dark, warmed by the sun, stretched out in a white that glows in the moonlight. She is a thing of beauty.

Just hours ago her legs gripped his hips with a strength he knew he could never come close to possessing; her fingers curled and left divots in his skin. She let his name spill from her lips when all other words failed her. She grinned lazily when he rolled, panting, beside her, laughing fondly at him and poking him in the side, her smile only widening at his scowl. For someone so full of life, of energy and happiness, she sure has chosen someone quite the opposite.

He watches her breathe for the longest time, observing the wings of her ribs expanding, wanting to draw his lips lightly over each and every one. It wouldn't wake her; she's a heavy sleeper.

He's never imagined he could be this much in love.

He doesn't say it often. He knows he should, but he never can quite bring himself to say it in front of others, to crack the world's illusion that he's a stone-cold statue of a man. But he knows she sees it in his eyes, that he's thinking it when she catches him watching her bake cookies with a little smear of dough on her cheek, or when he wrinkles his aristocratic nose but still catches her lips in his when she bounces up to him covered in sweat. Funny, she tells him. He doesn't seem to mind her being sweaty when she's in his bed.

Funny, he tells her. He doesn't really mind it when she's out of his bed either, unless she jumps on him and gets his suit all smelly.

She takes it as he means to say it, understanding that what he really wants to tell her is that he loves her so much that it terrifies him.

He blinks, drawn out of the masterpiece of her body when she mumbles something indistinct in her sleep, shifting ever so slightly. In the moment, he could tell her, if he woke her up. But it would be a travesty to do so; she's so incredibly peaceful and he can't bring himself to disturb her.

_This love,_ he thinks, _is silent._

It's apt, he muses. T. S. Eliot would approve of the use of his own words, and in any case, her body is rather like poetry; otherworldly and difficult to pin down. With all the noise of a gentle snowfall he slips out of bed, crossing the room clumsily but quietly, opening a wooden box on his desk and fluttering his long fingers until he finds what he wants. He clambers back into bed, careful not to wake her, and uncaps his calligraphy brush pen. His body seems to hum with happiness.

Gently, ever so gently, he scribes the words from shoulder to shoulder over her bare back, the brush moving with the hard and soft lines of her bones and sinew. When he's finished he sits back, letting the ink dry and admiring his work. It's stark, a hard black against the earthy tones of her skin, shimmering faintly in the ethereal moonlight.

_This love is silent._

Once he's gotten a taste, he can't seem to stop; words he's memorized over the years flood into his mind and feel simply perfect. He has to write them down, and what is a better canvas than the warm, gorgeous woman before him? He paints her skin with Keats, blows gently on the drying words of Poe, and even brushes her with Oscar Wilde who, as an avid feminist, he knows she hates. The script spreads from the sharp planes of her shoulder blades and along her spine, following the defined lines of her latissimus dorsi and curving around the swell of her buttocks. He moves the sheets aside delicately so that he can get to her legs, which might as well be carved out of wood for how strong they are. He avoids her feet, knowing her one ticklish weakness, and instead hovers over her body, scrawling elegantly up the back of her neck, down the powerful arms that can hold him so tightly, and carefully along the calloused fingers.

Only then does he lose his all-consuming desire to spill his heart to her in the words of other human beings, and he pauses. He realizes that he's out of breath, and is surprised at how overtaken he had been, only now noticing that he's completely covered her body in gorgeous writing. As with everything he creates, it's meticulous; not a single errant splotch or unsightly smear. Clean-cut. He lets out a slow breath, letting himself just stop and _look_ at her, and a slow, rare, lazy smile stretches over his pale face.

He loves her so.

His eyelids growing heavy, he leans down, taking her hand and careful, ever so careful not to wake her, writes one last, parting quote, a whisper passing through him from Keats, on her palm. Placed right next to her parted, slow-breathing lips, it is the first thing she will see in the morning.

_I love you more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and nothing else._


	26. Temporary Stitches

**Well, here I am, all moved into college in New York. Here's hoping I'll stop being too flustered and anxious to write within a few days.**

**IMPORTANT: This is an offshoot of my fic The Almost Ones. It will probably make little sense if you haven't read it. What, was that a shameless self plug I just saw?**

**HEADS UP: This is bordering on M-rated for sex.**

* * *

Temporary Stitches

He finds her drinking alone.

From the doorway, she's the picture of broken; her hair is in tangles, cascading around her face in a way that only emphasizes the age she's normally so good at hiding. She's been wearing the same pajamas for a week, ghosting around the manor with frequent bouts of silent crying. Juliet reports that she managed to get her to shower once, but that she remained fully clothed on the floor of the tub while the younger woman washed her hair and stayed there until the pajamas were dry.

Juliet also reports that she confiscated the suspicious accumulation of pills in the medicine cabinet.

He cares for her; he can push his own suffering away and swallow it down when he can worry about her instead. Peering into the drawing room, he allows himself to be heard.

"Angeline."

She looks around, doe-eyed and well on her way to drunk, the wine glass trembling in her bony hands. Guilt stabs at his chest. It's his fault that she's sinking back into this, scrabbling for a grasp on reality. After all, he was the one that let her son get murdered, who couldn't get off of the forest floor and stop her before she could see all that was left of —

"Yes, Butler?" she asks, her voice shaky and almost inaudible.

"Mr. Fowl has left again," he says, and it's only thanks to years of training and burying his emotions that he doesn't let it slip how furious he is. "Amsterdam, this time."

She nods mutely, looking into her wine glass, and he knows she's thinking the same thing as he is. It's been barely two months since the massacre, and after a week of grief Artemis Senior was already back to business. He hasn't been home for longer than four days since.

As Angeline raises her glass to drink again Butler's seized, suddenly, with the desire to _fix_ this. He crosses the room in three strides, sitting gently across from her and taking the glass. She lets it go easily.

"Don't," he says. "We both know this is not the road you want to take."

Her lips tremble, and for the first time since her world was destroyed she fights against the emotions she's feeling, trying to shove them inside where they'll be thoroughly ignored. Her career as a socialite may have made her into an incredible actress, but she's no Butler, and the tears spill over once more.

"There was a chance," she whispers, a whimper lacing her words. "There was always a chance when Timmy disappeared, and I want —"

Her voice breaks and she sobs. Butler holds out a hand and she takes it, latching onto him with a desperation that he hasn't felt from a human being since Artemis tried to run away from home, age six. A sour taste lingers in his mouth.

"I just want him back," she manages, curling in on herself. "Oh, God, Butler, I want my son back."

A wordless noise of grief emits from somewhere deep within her ribcage, shaking her bones, and for a moment Butler only sees a fourteen-year-old girl, trying to swallow the idea that the only father figure she had ever had in her life was gone and too afraid to ask for comfort because she knew she wouldn't receive it. Before he knows it, his arms are open and she's clambering into his lap, falling to pieces in his grasp.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, a chasm splintering through his heart. "I'm so sorry."

She shakes her head into his shoulder; is she dismissing his apology or refusing to accept it? It doesn't matter; she's stroking his neck tenderly, forgivingly. It's too much. He hasn't let himself cry, he hasn't deserved to cry, since the day it happened, but now he's choking on tears, letting himself leak through the seams that hold together that tough bodyguard exterior. It's she who's holding him now, he realizes.

He's slow to process what's happening as she takes his face in her hands, so thin and lithe like her son's were, and kisses him urgently with something almost like violence. And, to his utter amazement, he lets her because for a single moment, for the first time in two months, any thought of Artemis's blood and scraps of skin and sinew completely vanishes from his mind. It's like a high. He comes crashing down almost instantly.

"Wait," he gasps, breaking away, but Angeline clamps her fingers around his lapel and pulls herself closer.

"Please," she whispers. "Please, I just — I need —"

Scrabbling, she manages to snatch one of his huge hands and place it firmly on her waist. Butler's pupils dilate ever so slightly, but her own teary eye's don't fail to miss it.

"Make me forget," she breathes against his jaw. "I don't want to remember anymore."

"Angeline —"

"Butler." Her voice is still gravelly from the frequently wailing that took place in the first few weeks, and something about it flips a switch. His fingers clamp down on her hip, drawing her body flush with his, and she gasps, clawing for purchase on his broad shoulders before he captures her lips with his.

She's no longer his employer, the wife of the patriarch or the mother of his charge. She's a human; he's a human, and they desperately need someone, something to validate the fact that they are still here, alive. It's anything but gentle. Her nails leave marks on his skin, his fingers pressing bruises into her flesh, her teeth burrowing into his neck, his ears. Somehow they wind up on the floor, Butler's tie gone and shirt unbuttoned, slacks down to his knees, her nightgown hitched up and undergarments in shambles. It's not about love, or even the sex; the desperation and agony floods the room in waves, crashing about in time with their ragged breathing.

It's escapism in its purest form.

It's over with the crashing of the sea and the shuddering of the platelets, the world disappearing for a few precious instants in a wall of white noise. When they come back to their bodies, Butler drops to his elbows and Angeline starts to cry without a sound.

"Thank you," she whispers finally, her tears soaking the carpet beneath her. "Thank you."

He wipes away the wetness streaming down her temples with a gentleness that just makes her cry harder and helps her up, silent, ashamed as he puts himself away and reties his tie. She sits on the couch, watching him clean up her wine and move to leave the room.

"I don't blame you, Butler," she says.

"I let him go out alone," he says, not looking her way. "I knew he had enemies. I _knew_ that and I still let him talk me into it."

"He could have talked you into letting him fly to the moon on his own if he had really wanted to," she tells him.

"It was my job to keep him safe," Butler replies, turning and staring her down. "I signed a contract and pledged my life and I swore I would never let anything happen to him. It doesn't matter what he wanted; I failed."

"You loved him so much," she murmurs. "You knew him so much more than his own parents did. You may have failed as a bodyguard, but I failed as a mother, and that is so much worse."

He starts to rebuke her, but she holds up a hand, her eyes weary. "Don't make me carry it alone," she whispers. "Not anymore."

It's moment of toil inside him. She stares up at him, baring her heart, begging, pleading for him to help her in a way her husband refuses to, and he can't resist. This woman, he thinks, is all he has left of his charge. This woman is someone to honor.

"I will always be here for you," he tells her, his voice cracking ever so slightly with the weight of what he is promising.

Her eyes close, her brow furrowing. When she opens them again to thank him, he's gone. She didn't even hear him go.


	27. Homesickness

**I'm homesick. This is free. Counseling is not.**

* * *

**Homesick**

It's incredible, Artemis thinks, how positively dismal silence can be.

It's nine in the evening, too early to go to bed without coming off as pathetic. Occasionally he hears his mother's laugh ringing faintly through the halls from the other side of the manor, unbearably cheerful for his mood. He's standing in the middle of his study, lights off, curtains thrown open to reveal the slightly brisk night hiding on the other side of the glass panes. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; at some point his tie was removed, though in a rare fit of forgetfulness he doesn't remember where he put it. His hair is thoroughly disheveled. That, more than anything, speaks to his state of mind.

Artemis is rather well-acquainted in the art of burying any sort of feelings that may be construed as perceived weaknesses — in his more wry moments, he thinks that he quite deserves an honorary doctorate for all the work he's done in the field consisting of he, himself, and his psyche.

When an unfamiliar ache had risen in his body he had instinctually clamped down, but either he's woefully out of practice or he's unaccustomed to this feeling because it begins to seep through the hairline fractures in his defenses, sending a hollow feeling through his bones and a sinking sensation skimming down his vertebrae. That's how Butler finds him, standing in the center of the room and not really looking at anything in particular.

"Artemis?" he says softly from the doorway.

For a moment, Artemis considers what his bodyguard is seeing; him, out of his normal calm and collected state of being, without any purpose or motive. Very unlike him. Yes, he decides. Understandably concerning.

"Yes, Domovoi?" he asks nonchalantly, not looking away from the scrap of wallpaper his eyes had decided to land on a half-hour earlier.

The rare use of his name is enough to make Butler's mind up for him. In Artemis's mind, he knows, the name is a cry for help. He closes the door behind him and sits calmly, wordlessly, in one of the Victorian armchairs sprinkled around the perimeter of the room. He doesn't ask Artemis to vent his problems. He knows the boy will speak when he's ready to.

It takes nearly ten minutes, but eventually Artemis looks away from the wall and lays eyes on his manservant. "Something's wrong," he says, more as an observation than as a complaint.

"Is it something I can fix or prevent?"

"No," Artemis says. "I don't think so."

Shifting, Butler rests his elbows on his knees, his brow creasing in a way that is specially reserved for Artemis and Artemis alone. "Tell me," he says softly.

It takes another couple of minutes for Artemis gather his thoughts, and then he lets out rather long sigh and casts his gaze around for somewhere he wants to come to rest until he simply gives up and sits on the floor. Butler's brow quirks. He can count on one hand how many times Artemis has sat on the floor in his life.

"I think..." Artemis stops, frowning. Butler waits, as patiently as always. "I think I'm lonely," he finishes after a time.

Butler's a little stung that, for whatever reason, Artemis doesn't think his lifelong companion can cure his loneliness, but he pushes the hurt aside; as always, this isn't about him. Again, he doesn't press Artemis to speak. He simply waits.

Artemis doesn't speak, but rather clambers in a rather geriatric fashion to his feet in a way that breaks Butler's heart a little. Once he's standing he doesn't seem to know why he stood, and he sways aimlessly, unbalanced.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Three hours ago. Dried apricots."

"And slept?"

"I woke up at eight this morning."

Butler stands, crossing to his charge in a matter of seconds and placing a steadying hand on Artemis's thin shoulder. It nearly buckles the boy's knees. Butler feels the tension radiating through the skinny muscles and bones under his palm, and he gently rocks Artemis back and forth.

"Let me help you," he suggests. Artemis doesn't agree but he doesn't oppose the action either when Butler places a hand on each side of his head and cradles him. "Relax," he instructs, and for once in his life Artemis takes an order without argument.

Butler murmurs his directions as he moves around to his charge's back, massaging around each vertebrae until they release individually, letting Artemis's body droop until his fingers brush the carpet. He grinds the heel of his hands into he boy's sacrum until it gives way completely and his charge is hanging like a limp doll. Slowly, he works back up Artemis's spine until the genius is upright save for his head and neck, all the tension in his shoulders and back gone.

Butler places a hand at the back of his neck, his thumb landing just under Artemis's occipital ridge and his pinky brushing between his shoulder blades. "Bring your head up into my hand," he says, and as Artemis does as he says his stomach drops out from under him.

The tears freely streaming down his pale face come easily, without effort or facial contortion or gut-wrenching sobs. Artemis just stares off at nothing and lets them come soundlessly, breathing steadily and normally.

"We do carry a lot of tension in our bodies," he observes simply, "don't we?"

"We do," Butler affirms.

"That is the first time I've been touched with any sort of intimacy or affection in weeks," Artemis comments, once more breaking his bodyguard's heart a little. "I was unaware that I had become quite so dependent on it."

"It's not a weakness, to want to be cared for."

"Thank you," Artemis says. "I think I will be fine for the time being."

Butler nods and heads for the door, stopping at the threshold. "It's not like you'll never see her again, Artemis," he tells his charge. "She's just on a long-term assignment. And I'm sure she wants to speak to you, even though she can't."

"I know," the wunderkind replies. "But no matter how rationally one thinks about it, five months is a very long time in the span of a human life."

As he leaves, Butler wonders if the drapes were not thrown back from the window in an irrational hope that a fairy would come knocking.


End file.
